When the Day Met the Night
by CaptainCrash
Summary: Sam is a ghost writer,contracted by Sherlock. It was fate that they met; but Moriarty doesn't see it that way. After all, he's the only one allowed to change the rules. Sherlock/OC
1. Do You Know What I'm Seeing?

_Sherlock-When the Day Met the Night_

_Ok, so welcome to my first Sherlock Fic. Firstly I'd like to thank Jemima123, XxLovelyLittleMexX and CrazyLara who have all been fundamental in the inspiration of me writing this fic. All three can be found on my Favourite Authors tab on my profile._

_I have an idea where this fic is going and how it's going to end...but it's not set in stone. That's where you come in. Inspire me... point out things if you think Sherlock is being OOC and most importantly... ENJOY THE RIDE._

_Following the POV of the character you meet in this chapter and, occasionally, Sherlock's you will see how their relationship progresses from professional to personal. Can she get out of her routine and solitude to let Sherlock in? Can she teach him about empathy and compassion before he pushes her away? Can they both navigate the bumps in the road to reach a happy ending?_

_**A/N 26.7.2013**_

_**I'm currently editing this story. It has come to light that there are a number of grammatical errors that I need to clear up. Some of the content in here *MAY* change as a result of an insulting suggestion that my story is just a Sue with a plot.**_

_**I'll also point out that the tea shop I reference in this chapter is not actually a sit-down-and-drink-tea but a buy-the-leaves-and-brew-yourself kind of shop. In was an error on my part, but it feels a little Harry Potter/ 9 ¾ so I'm leaving it in. How did I find out? I went to the shop for a cuppa… and came out with about 30 cups worth of leaves.**_

_**For those who are new to my story, please drop me a review, let me know what you think. I need some honest opinions about this story.**_

_Chapter One: Do You Know What I'm Seeing?_

_There's a reason I said I'd be happy alone. It wasn't 'cause I thought I'd be happy alone. It was because I thought if I loved someone and then it fell apart, I might not make it. It's easier to be alone, because what if you learn that you need love and you don't have it? What if you like it and lean on it? What if you shape your life around it and then it falls apart? Can you even survive that kind of pain? Losing love is like organ damage. It's like dying. The only difference is death ends. This? It could go on forever._

_Meredith Grey, Grey's Anatomy._

I was happy in my own world! Until him! He threw me off my guard and sent my idea of life into a spin. For someone who was so straight laced, he disregarded everyone else's comfort zones with reckless precision. I didn't know when I first met him that I'd fall in love with him- this is not one of those stories. In fact my first encounter with him left me wanting to get out of his company as fast as possible and never lay my eyes upon his sculpted face again. Of course he had other plans, he always did. He also made me a proposition I couldn't refuse.

I was sat in my favourite tea shop on Neal Street, writing about nothing in particular. I'd just finished writing a biography for an Essex socialite and awaiting the cheque for a timely completion. I'd been given an advance for another, but the publishing house had yet to arrange a meeting, so I had time to myself. This way of living had become a routine: wake up at 6am with a headache that only a caffeine fix could cure. Trying to ignore the throbbing of my head, I'd shuffle into the bathroom and take a quick shower. As soon as I physically could, I'd get out of my cramped, lifeless and uninspiring flat with my bag clutched to my shoulder. I'd move quickly down the staircases. I often contemplated moving; I had the money to, but I didn't see the point when I only spent my sleeping hours there. Looking back, I guess I was scared that if I had a more comfortable place to live, I'd never actually leave.

The smell of the second floor was unavoidable on the journey out of my building. I was certain even those with stronger stomachs than my own would be void of their contents if they were adventurous enough to have breakfast before leaving my confines and entering the urban jungle that was London via the rubbish dump that was the second floor. Of course, it was only a theory as I'd never invited anyone to my accommodation. Never knew someone well enough for them to be understanding; after all I hated living there. I'd not been able to call anywhere home in many years. Little did I know that within the year I would indeed have a place, and a person, to call home.

Once outside the seven floored flat, armed with all the things I'd need to keep me entertained for the day, I'd take a lung full of morning air and make my way to the tea shop using the most direct route that I knew of. I was never in a rush. While the shop would be busy when I arrived, it would be a mixture line of lawyers, bankers and other office workers stopping for their morning fix of caffeine. They'd leave with their drug in a large cup and the shop would remain empty until at least 10am when the new mothers would begin their day with a morning tea. I'd wait in line, immersed in my own world; encased in a blast of music that prevented people from speaking to me. It was easier that way. I'd remove my headphone for enough time to order my first and only cup of coffee of the day. It's always highly unnecessary, the girls behind the counter know my order, but it's only polite. I always take my usual seat in the far corner of the shop, stuff my headphones back into my ears and begin my scribbling, or typing; whatever the mood, or current job, called for.

I had a routine. I'd stay there all day, sipping on tea. I'd see other customers get drinks for free if they stayed more than an hour. Never me, the most I was given was a rolling tab that I was to pay at the end of the day so that I didn't have to leave my seat except to nip to the toilet. It was the way I liked it though. Things were never for free. Everything had a price. Just like my routine had a social price. I sometimes felt I lacked company, friendship and companionship. But, at least this way, I knew where I stood and no one could hurt me by taking it away from me.

Nothing changed, ever.

That was, until he sat down in the vacant seat across the coffee table from me. Everything changed from that moment on. If he asks, I'll deny it.

'Excuse me?' I yanked out my headphones a little harder than I meant to and glared at the man who had yet to remove his thick coat or scarf, despite it being rather warm inside the shop. I was hoping to convey anger; however, whatever expression hung on my face amused him no end. I cursed my facial muscles for being so inept at channelling anger. 'I could be waiting for someone.' I argued. I didn't want to lie and tell him that I was waiting for someone, mainly because I couldn't lie, partly because I had the feeling that this stranger could see right through any invention. 'The polite thing would be –'

'- to ask if the seat was free, I agree. But, how do you suppose I enquire about the ownership of this chair with your music so loud?' He pressed his lips into a line that became something I later identified as his signature quirky smile. He drew his mug up to his lips but paused before he took a sip. 'Besides, it's quite clear you are not waiting for anyone.' I knew it was a loaded statement engineered to draw me into a conversation. I had a choice to make; I could ask him how he knew I wasn't waiting for anyone or I could be rude, throw him an attempted dirty look and go back to my ramblings. Ah hell, this was going to make my blood boil and my head ache. While I was contemplating my choices, he'd begun drinking from his mug, oblivious to the inner monologue that was tearing my head apart.

'How-' I began to ask. I noticed his Adam's apple vibrate as he suppressed what I could only perceive as a laugh. It was exactly what he wanted. He'd wanted me to ask. For some reason he wanted to engage me in conversation. He sighed, stretched and then relaxed into his seat. Ok, so he wants to talk at me.

'You're faced away from the door and you're not sat rigidly like many people who are awaiting company, always on edge because they don't want to miss their companion. You have three cups on the table, all yours from the smear of gloss on the lip of the cup.' I couldn't help but chew on my bottom lip at this observation. 'Incidentally from the random pattern your gloss has left, you could train yourself to be ambidextrous. The waitress likes to give you space, hence the build-up of cups.' He observed her further. 'In fact, you're sat in such a way that means you can't see a single person who enters the place which, from an anthropological view point, is rather anti-social.' He drank deeply from his mug and placed it down on the table. I could smell peppermint and it reminded me that I was thirsty. I drank from my own cup, trying not to wince as the stone cold tea trickled down my throat. 'The items you have with you aren't props either; unlike the woman behind you who has failed to turn the page of her book since she arrived. She also has a mobile phone, which will soon lose power because she keeps checking it for a message from her companion, who is-' He looked to his vintage watch. '-about 30 minutes late.'

I felt my brow tighten. I was confused; what did the woman's phone have to do with me?

'You have your phone in your bag and on silent. You are not expecting any calls.' He explained as if he was simply telling the time. It unnerved me.

'Ok, but just because I'm not expecting anyone doesn't mean someone I know won't arrive-' was that pity I saw flash across his blue eyes just before he cut me off?

'How would someone recognise you from the back of your head? It's a rather bland, undefined head. No... You know very few people in London. You originally came out to work in tea shops to try and meet new people, but your failed attempts at humour with the staff here has drained you of your confidence, so you now convince yourself that merely being around people while you have no work is enough to stop you feeling alone.' There! That right there was faux pity. This pompous man was either patronising me or he genuinely didn't know how to express empathy. Either way, I was angry. He was sitting there, plucking me from my happy isolated, ignorant existence and then making it out that it wasn't good enough. It wasn't, I wasn't happy. It wasn't good enough and I knew that, but who was he to point it out?

'I'm working right now, actually.' I declared, a little too prickly for my liking; I didn't want this stranger to think he'd gotten to me. Which, of course he had. It was going to be a three scoop evening at home. Nearly a whole tub of ice cream would be rammed into those three scoops. Good thing too, because the freezer didn't really work, so the ice cream only ever lasted a week before growing those unflattering crystals. Eating a family portion of ice cream was something I would punish myself for by going for a run at nine that evening instead of watching the film that I'd planned all week to watch when I'd seen it advertised; totally predictable.

'You're writing by hand,' He insisted. 'If it was paid work you were doing you'd be working on a laptop; it's less personal and not your preference; however, it is efficient. Your phone is on silent because you are working on your own novel, a fiction piece. You want a day to yourself, to write down your own ideas before your talents get used on some random celebrity's biography.'

''Well as you said, I have a day to myself and I'm choosing to spend it alone. So, if you don't mind; I'm going to get back to my work.' I stuffed the headphones back into my ears until I was sure the only way of getting them out would be through a pair of tweezers, I bent my head over the desk to stare at my half-filled page, hoping I was obscuring the ramblings from the observant man. I was trying to ignore the man who was currently scrolling through his phone while sipping on his tea. The man who made me feel so naked and vulnerable that I wanted to cry. Something didn't sit right with me; he'd passed me another loaded statement that I just couldn't get away from. I had a question and from the smile creeping onto his face, he was counting down to the removal of my head phones. I yanked them out with a sharp tug, but he spoke before I had chance to open my mouth:

'I know that your phone is on silent because, Miss Doyle, I've been trying to contact you. I'm Sherlock Holmes and I'm in need of your assistance.'


	2. Nine in the Afternoon

_**Authors note... thank you all for reading. I had an immense number of hits when I got up this morning. Hope you enjoy this chapter...**_

_Chapter Two: Nine in the Afternoon_

'Hello Sherlock.' I welcomed him cheerfully a month after our first meeting. I never knew when to expect him yet I was never surprised. I knew there'd be a pattern to him, but I was in no rush to discover it. I pulled my headphones out, turned the music off and placed it on the table between us. I took the offered cup of tea and clutched it with both hands.

Today I managed to say hello without looking up from my work. I was quite proud that I'd acknowledged his presence in a calm, blasé way. Then I remembered he was the only person who ventured into my territory.

A month ago he'd asked me to ghost write a novel for him. He'd argued that a person who could write in such an adaptable style that only he himself knew the books were written by a ghost was the one he wanted to work with. He correctly named the five pieces of work that I had written which didn't have my name on the cover.

He claimed that he didn't have the time to write them down in any other way than he had on his website and that he disapproved of his companion's interpretation in his blog; John Watson, I'd heard of him. I personally felt that Sherlock was too involved and lacked the creativity to engage an audience. He was too clinical with his writing. However, part of me thought he had an ulterior motive with this book. Perhaps it wasn't targeted for civilian eyes.

Each week, always on a different day, he'd appear with a drink for each of us. He'd sit with me for at least an hour, recounting one case at a time. It always seemed rehearsed and painstakingly planned. It was as if he was missing something out, a part of him. He was deliberately dropping a stitch and it frustrated me. Everything he recounted could be discovered from his website. I wanted him to show pride and passion in what he had done; I had a feeling he did, so why wasn't he showing that side of himself to me?

'Why don't you ever write anything down?' He asked me once he recollected a case from three years ago with intricate, bone dry, detail. 'You don't even record it.' His voice came across short and sharp; clipped. Was he annoyed? Even though, to a reader's ear it would be dry, rigid and the complete opposite of engaging I was hanging onto every one of those carefully constructed words. I was captivated, I was enthralled. I was also completely stuck as to how I was going to make the reader feel the same.

'I like to concentrate on what you have to say Sherlock.' I told him, trying to keep my voice firm. 'If I write while you're talking, I'll miss something. If I record you I won't write fluently. It'll be yours words, not my echo. You know that you have a way with words that could get your work placed in a reading list for a criminology degree without my help.' I took a gulp of my tea. 'If you're not happy with my methods-'

'I'm just curious.' He interrupted me before I could finish my empty threat. Truth was I needed the money, so if he told me to jump; I would ask how high. I was bluffing in the hope that I'd get my own way. 'I thought you couldn't surprise me is all.' Was that an insult or a compliment? I was going to take it as a compliment whether he liked it or not.

'Sorry to disappoint.' I hid my victorious smile behind my mug of tea. There was a moment of comfortable silence that I enjoyed. There was something homely about knowing someone long enough to allow a moment or two go by without any one saying a word.

'Do you have any more jobs lined up?' He asked draining his mug. Time was almost up and I could feel him retreating as he spoke, the homely feeling leaving with him.

'Not a peep. It's hard to get a good name for yourself when your job is to be unknown and you're damn good at it.' I sighed. The money was good, but it was inconsistent. I had money in an account, more than enough to move out of my accommodation but when I didn't know where the next pay was coming from, I felt it was irresponsible to spend my savings. London was expensive and I hardly had people knocking down my door. In fact, until Sherlock, I'd never had a person seek me out before.

'Is that why you're not sleeping?' He paused to see the way my face fell as I processed this information. Did he think I was stressed? I was unhappy, unchallenged but I wasn't stressed; it was the beauty and benefit of a simple life. 'You had a second cup of coffee this morning; both with addition shots of espresso. I paid your tab.' He explained, I hope he hadn't noticed the flush that had heated my face out of embarrassment. I liked paying my own way. 'You also look extremely tired.'

'Thanks!' I chuckled sarcastically. _So you're telling me I look like crap?_ I mentally asked him. I didn't know him well enough to say it out loud. 'But no, I'm not stressed. I was woken up in the early hours again; my neighbours where having yet another domestic.' I tried to smile. It was awful; the screaming went on for almost an hour. Back and forth between a man and woman; words came out loud and slurred. They were both drunk. 'It'll calm down, I'm sure.'

'When you live about a drug dealer, I doubt it-'

'How do you know that? I don't even know who lives in the same building as me. I've never spoken to any of them.' I cut him off, genuinely in awe of him.

'You're clothes smell of the drug and whatever chemical they use to cut it.' As he spoke I blushed so red I knew he wouldn't have missed it. I could feel the heat travel across my face so fast it stung my eyes. 'Don't worry, it is feint. No one but me would notice.' His words were a small comfort to me.

'Could be worse I guess. I could live directly above the second floor and smell of rotten food and unclean bodies.' I insisted looking on the bright side.

'Squatters no doubt.' He insisted. 'Explains why you're never at home, or invite people over.' He stood and pulled on his coat.

'You hinting for an invite there Holmes?' I smiled playfully picking up my pen and IPod, ready to write once he'd left.

'Of course not.' He replied flatly, misunderstanding my rhetorical question. 'See you next week Sam.' He vacated the space before me and left me feeling more alone than I'd ever felt.

I didn't write again that day, I moved to the couch by the window, curled my legs under myself and clutched my tea in both hands. I watched the world go by until the sun went down and I was informed that the shop was closing.


	3. New Perpective

_**Author's note: I'm a little nervous about this chapter, for reasons you'll discover from the opening sentence. I think that it gives an added depth to the story, but it might not work.**_

_**Enjoy...**_

_Chapter Three: New Perspective_

She hadn't noticed and I wasn't about to point it out, but there had been small changes in her behaviour and routines in the time that I'd known her. By my third visit her phone was on the table despite the fact that I'd neither text or phoned since that first day. She never paid any attention to it and I've not seen her get a single correspondence on the device. It was there none the less, her attempt to appear 'normal' to me. Normal was boring, why didn't she understand that?

By the fifth week she'd moved to the opposite seat that I would usually occupy. She'd face the door, but never look at it. She'd never observed any of the people that arrived, and therefore didn't notice me there at the counter three times that week when I'd called in to get a coffee before meeting with Lastrade. Each time she was sat, deep in concentration, her brown hair tied up on top of her head. She didn't care for her long hair, but didn't seem to have the inclination to get it cut either.

When I did sit down to speak to her, she would always ring out a bright 'Hello Sherlock' before looking up, pleased to see me. By my tenth encounter, things had changed significantly.

'You're not listening to your music!' I observed as I sat down. She'd also rearranged the furniture; my seat was now the same side as her own, place at an angle so that I could see her while looking out into the shop at the same time. Had she been acutely aware that having my back to a busy room irritated me? Or was she uncomfortable with my focus being solely on her?

'I forgot it.' She answered, her voice was uncomfortably strained. It angered her that she'd forgotten it. I glanced at her paper that she thought was concealed on her lap; clearly the lack of music increased her level of writing. There on top was a full page of neat, curled writing. It was my work she was working on, that would be saved on the laptop which was in her bag that was neatly stowed away under her chair. She'd picked up on the routine of my visits and that was why she'd forgotten her Ipod; she was rushing this morning. I wasn't going to tell her that. She always became irritated when I pointed out her habits and then she'd try to change them in time for the next meeting. She wasn't the only one.

Usually by now she would have taken a sip of her tea I'd brought over for her, but it still remained untouched on the table. Today she seemed distant I'd broken her escapist thoughts and something that had been bothering her had crept back to distract her.

I tentatively placed my hand onto the wrist of her right arm which was resting on the table. I hoped this would be of comfort to her and that I could let go soon. I felt her flinch slightly at my touch but locked her eyes with mine. They had pooled tears at the bottom of the lids; surely my company wasn't that offensive? I used my eyes to question her behaviour; _are you alright? What is wrong?_ They were dull, pointless questions that would insult both my own and her intelligence.

'There was a fire in my flat last night.'

'No there wasn't!' I interrupted. I know people hate that, but I was only stating the obvious. I removed my hand from hers as I felt her tense from my interjection. 'You're here for a start; no one who had been through such a traumatic event would be sitting here as calmly as you.' I paused as she scoffed, catching a tear falling from her face and presenting it to be as a person would raise a glass in a toast. Point taken, I thought before continuing. 'Your possessions are fine and your clothes do not smell of smoke... In fact they smell of...' I paused; she only smelt of her perfume. It was old; almost two, no three, years old. Well and truly past its date for wearing but it was too expensive for her to replace. It had been a gift from someone special; she was not the kind of person who would buy perfume for herself. Sam had not noticed the change in the smell because she was so used to wearing it. Not all the time, but on special occasions. It all fitted into place. 'You bought the clothes today,' I added. 'The fire was not your flat but the one bellow. Your clothes at home all smell of smoke, even to your nose, so you went out and bought news ones for today on your way here.' I paused to take in her frailty. 'You only did that and came here because you knew I'd be here.'

I'd feel guilt if I believed that I was directly responsible for her choice of actions and if the emotion wasn't such a complete and utter waste of time.

'Don't be so egotistical,' she smiled despite her tears. She took great pride in the times when she got to correct my insights. I didn't mind because I liked to see her smile. 'While I was aware that you'd be here today, I never want to be in that flat on a normal day, let alone after the night I've had. I've even bought a ticket to see a play tonight.'

She'd bought a day ticket, fraction of the price for unpredictable seat. She didn't mind, it was her validation for going alone.

'Sherlock, they had a child. I'd seen her playing outside the building when I'd be going back of an evening. She wouldn't be wearing any shoes or socks. She's currently in the hospital's intensive care unit.' Her tears had stopped, her sadness replaced by a stronger emotion. 'I didn't do anything!'

'Did you even know she lived there?'' I asked, knowing the answer. Sam just someone to agree with her and tell her that it wasn't her fault that the child was injured.

'No, I never heard a peep from her and I only ever saw her outside. I don't think her parent's paid her enough attention because the few times I did try and speak to her it was clear her speech hadn't been developed properly. She couldn't even tell me her name, and I would say she was at least four years old.' She mused in silence moment before realising I was still there. 'I'm so sorry; you're paying me to do a job. That was very unprofessional of me.'

'It's ok,' I found myself saying. 'But if anything like this happens again, please ring me.'

'And cancel, yes of course.' She muttered bashfully. No not of course, how can you phone and cancel something that does not exist? She mistook my meaning.

'No, so that you can talk it through with someone right away before it rips your sanity apart.' I corrected her. This concern and offer of a companion to lean on took her by surprise and brought a flush to her cheeks. It frustrated her that she could not control it because soon after she excused herself and visited the bathroom.

I stayed a little longer than usual, to ensure she was completely calm before I left. She invited me to distract her by summing up a selected individual who walked in to purchase a drink. She attempted a few and I noted that she had a keen eye, but unfortunately a tendency to think of zebras before horses; typical novelist.

Her smile was wide, reflecting her inner peace as I gathered my coat to leave. Her smile faulted slightly at this movement. She didn't like the prospect of being left alone. She'd rather have my insufferable, condescending company than be alone. Something to tell John the next time he complained.

'I'd like to walk you home after your play!' I insisted as I pulled on my coat. She shook her head; her pride getting in the way of ensuring she'd get home safely. She refused to tell me what play she was going to see. 'I'll figure it out,' were my parting words. I pretended not to hear her comment, but it brought a smile to my lips. She muttered 'The game is on,' before I'd gotten two tables away.

It was indeed on.


	4. Pas de Cheval

_**Author's note: Thank you for all you lovely people who are reviewing and those who've put me on their story alerts. :D While you're waiting for an update, please check out my completed Inception fic: Did You Ever Have a Dream. **_

_**Anyway, back to Sam's POV. I currently have chapter five typed up and ready for editing and half of chapter six written.**_

_**What are you thinking about it so far? I know there's not much of a plot so far, but its coming.**_

_**Enjoy**_

_Chapter Four: Pas de Cheval_

I'd lucked out with my theatre ticket; third row centre. It was the benefit of going solo. By the end of the first act I had forgotten what I was heading home to. That blissful escapism ended the moment the curtain fell for the final time that night amid a thunder of applause and a futile roar for an encore performance by the besotted fans of the lead actor.

I waited in my seat patiently for the crowds to disperse and filter into the night, all talking animatedly with each other about their favourite bits, before I made my way up the aisle and out of the theatre into the lobby. My heart was heavy as I was aware the evening was coming to an end.

The day had been so warm that I hadn't thought to bring a coat. Now the cold bit at my bare shoulders. It caused me a little concern as I was still stood at the threshold of the building and I had a forty-minute walk ahead of me. Most people had headed to the main street to hail a taxi so the street was pretty much deserted. I knew it would be safer, and quicker, to take a taxi myself. But what was the rush; I had nothing to get home for except for sleep. I dismissed the idea of getting a pet the second it entered my head.

I briefly allowed my mind to entertain the idea that Sherlock would be waiting to walk me home. I would not be disappointed if he didn't show. At least that's what I would tell him on Tuesday when I'd see him next. Or I'd avoid the mention of his offer completely if I could. I didn't want the man I considered wholly independent thinking I was beginning to depend upon his company.

'Miss Doyle?' A voice questioned from behind me and made me jump. 'I'm sorry; I didn't mean to startle you. Sherlock sent me.' He explained sheepishly as I turned to the voice. There was about six feet between us. He had his weight resting upon a cane that was clutched in his right hand and a coat wrapped over his left. The coat wasn't for him as he was wearing his own grey button-up. It clashed with his other attire. It must have been a gift; a girlfriend who didn't see eye to eye with his fashion sense. _Damn you Sherlock; I'm doing it now!_

'You're Dr John Watson.' I let the breath I'd been holding since he first spoke escape my lips. I took the steps needed to close the gap between us and extended my first hand for him to shake. I watched as he passed the cane smoothly from his right to left hand and took my hand. His grip was firm and confident. I instantly trusted this man with my life.

'This is for you.' He passed me the full length coat. As soon as I pulled the long, heavy coat onto my frame images of Sherlock flooded through my mind. It smelt of him and pleasantly abused my senses; a tangle of seasons and other things so mingled and connected that I couldn't deconstruct it to identify them all.

'Where is he?' I asked hoping he'd not noticed me pull the coat a little closer with one hand and reposition the collar with my other. I felt so self conscious, more so than usual.

'He got a call from Lestrade. He sends his apologies, his coat and his resident, and exceptionally loyal, lap dog to escort you home.' He stretched out his hands to indicate that he was the lap dog. I was mortified; this man had implied it with such a bittersweet tone that I wondered if it were a genuine friendship or someone Sherlock could become bored of if John outgrew his usefulness. At least I knew that was the case with me; I had entered a contract that had an expiration date. Dear John, wonderful John had not. Why had Sherlock put his two puppets into this awkward position? I had a fleeting thought that he was observing in a secluded spot; me and John playing in his anthropological project.

'You really don't have to John. I-' I couldn't look the army doctor in the eyes; Concentrating instead on my feet that were shuffling back and forth uncomfortably; a response to me fighting off the desire to run.

'Believe me Miss Doyle, you are one of the most pleasurable tasks I've had to endure at the whim of Sherlock. It would be my pleasure to walk you home.' He responded in a tone that was anything but rude. Yet it left me with no room to argue.

'So long as you call me Sam.' I compromised. He nodded and offered his now free left arm. How strange, no man had ever offered his arm to me. How did this polar opposite know Sherlock well enough to meet a total stranger at eleven in the evening when he had a girlfriend to be at home with? We headed north from Sloan Square until we got to the road I usually took home.

'How was the play?' John asked as he took his asymmetrical steps. I enjoyed the rhythm his walk gave us. It was different and strangely comforting. Why did everything in life have to be so uniform? I explained that I had enjoyed it and as the conversation progressed it turned out that John had taken his girlfriend at the weekend. It made a nice change to compare opinions with someone.

It was only when we got to the bottom of my road that our conversation ventured towards Sherlock. I felt an unfamiliar stirring in the pit of my stomach at his name. I didn't like it. He was paying me to do a job and I was getting distracted by school-girl flights of fancy.

'You'll get used to him.' John continued. I didn't want to get used to him, as soon as I did I'd be dependant and before I'd know it he'd be gone, onto his next compulsive obsession. 'He was quite concerned about you today, which is a remarkable feat. He usually has the emotional range of a roasted walnut. Now this is not a question you would never hear from out Mr Holmes as he does not understand social and emotional etiquette, but are you ok?'

'I'm...' I faltered as John's warm and inviting eyes bore into my soul. 'I'll be ok. I let my imagination run away with me sometimes. I expect to be able to smell her burnt flesh. They stopped the fire quickly.' I rationalised, more for my own piece of mind than John's. 'It was contained to their flat and mine only smells of the smoke. It'll go in a few days.' I contemplated what I was going to say next. It was something that I would never usually voice. 'The damage in their flat will be superficial. The only thing that was truly damaged was irreplaceable. Yet those parents won't realise that.' I sighed deeply. 'At least I'm tired enough to sleep. Then tomorrow-'

'You'll be back in your cafe?' John questioned; his limp predominantly worse than when we'd started out. I released his arm in the hope that it would elevate some of the pain he was undoubtedly feeling.

'Yes, I suppose I will.' I smiled; Sherlock had spoken to this man about me. My heart fluttered annoyingly as if I'd had ten espressos and placed myself on a rollercoaster with a 5.5 g force. That thought pulled out a long buried memory. Yet another lonely experience; my uncle had taken me to a theme park one summer. He had not been able to go on the rides with me so I'd queued alone for hours while he parked up on a bench. It was in the paper; man dies of heart attack at local theme park. He'd not even gone on a single ride, not even the sky ride to take us from one part of the park to another. He'd died before I'd gotten to him and I was taken home by the police.

'I'm working on my own novel at the moment. I don't think it will be any good though. How can I convey something I've not experienced? I'm not an extravert or adventurous in the slightest.' I felt like I was stating the obvious.

'Life is sometimes over rated, adventures even more so.' John soothed. I felt that he wanted to tell me more but decided to leave it there for the day.

'This is me!' We found ourselves at the gate to my building. 'I'd invite you in-' I began apologetically.

'Don't worry about it.' He flattened his hair against the wind that had just arrived for the night. 'It was lovely to meet you Sam and I'm sure I'll see you again soon.'

'Good night John.' I retreated into my prison, climbing the stairs in sets of two. I held my breath until I reached the landing of the third floor and I spared a thought for the young girl as I passed the fifth floor.

Only once I'd closed my door with a snap did I realise I was still wearing Sherlock's coat. I peered out of my window to see if John was still there but he'd vanished without a trace. I poured myself a glass of water and went to find comfort in my bedroom. I contemplated going to Sherlock's home to return his coat but I didn't have any idea where he lived.

Placing the glass upon the bedside table I delved into my bag to retrieve my phone; it had died at some point during the day. While it was gaining enough power to start up I ventured into the bathroom to brush my teeth. My eyes were beginning to fight consciousness as I took in the peace and quiet; perhaps I should have taken advantage of the fact that the residents of the flat below were currently keeping vigil at the girl's bedside. I reprimanded myself for such a negative thought as I turned off the bathroom light and climbed into bed, fully clothed.

As I leaned over to turn off the bedroom light I noticed the screen of my phone flash. I'd received a text once the phone had powered up:

**You can return the coat when we next meet, SH.**

I checked the time stamp of the text. There was no way John could have possibly gotten back to him in that time for him to discover I still had his coat. I placed the phone back on the bedside and drew my legs up to my chest,

I did not remove his coat from my frame that night. I did not care if he predicted this would happen or that he'd deduce what I'd done upon the items return to its owner. Tonight I didn't care; I didn't want to feel alone. I wanted to feel homely. His scent that was interwoven into his coat was undeniably homely to me.


	5. Nails for Breakfast, Tacks for Snacks

_**Things are coming along really well at the moment. I have chapters six and seven typed and ready to be edited, chapters nine and ten written ready to be typed up and eleven to fourteen planned out ready to be written. This story is consuming my life at the moment and I can't wait to get my favourite chapter so far up on here: it's the game changer ;p**_

_**What do you think?**_

_**Enjoy.**_

_Chapter Five: Nails For Breakfast, Tacks For Snacks_

I studied his face as he continued to read the current version of the transcript. It was fixed on the transcript and unreadable; it made me more than a little nervous. He'd been there for almost two hours already and his face had not changes; mask-like and fixed in a mood of concentration.

Me, after two hours in his company, I was fidgeting. I was embarrassed to admit that I had spent the last two hours fighting my urge not to stare. How often would I have him there that long so that I could take in all of his beauty; his pale lips that were almost indistinguishable from his alabaster skin? And there I go, distracted by the one part of him I shouldn't.

It's not like I didn't try and distract myself. I'd gone to the counter when it had the longest queue to order us drinks while he read. Despite the line, it took no time at all and before I knew it I was back at the table. Realising he was not going to finish any time soon I pulled out the novel I was reading and digested five rather long chapters before he was close to finishing. I eventually closed my book mid-chapter as I noticed he was on the last few pages. I knew I'd not normally do that, the point of chapters is to allow a reader a natural breaking point. However I knew I'd been distracted and that I'd have to re-read them once I gotten back to the flat.

'What do _you_ think?' Sherlock questioned me when he'd placed the transcript on the table. I couldn't tell from the tone of his voice if he was disappointed or not. The truth was I still didn't like it. It was as if I'd written it with an all important vowel missing. It wasn't him and it certainly wasn't me. I told him so and I watched his face break into a smile. 'It's incredibly well written.' He insisted. 'And you'll get there. You just have to stop forcing it. There's no rush.'

I allowed a moment to pass in silence.

'I was wondering-'

'Famous last words.' He teased leaning back into the chair, his now cold tea in his hand.

'Could I shadow you? On a case, any case... It doesn't have to be dangerous.' I sucked in a breath and prepared to argue my case. His expression was still unreadable but I was expecting his response. 'I have an idea you see. I think you're different when you're involved, when you're using that high functioning mind of yours to its fullest capacity.' I saw him swell with pride at this. 'I'm sure, certain, that you're different to the man before me recollecting his feats of genius.' I was hoping that I had flattered him enough.

'No' He answered flatly and my heart plummeted, this novel was going to be discount bin material at this rate. 'Not until you've gotten rid of your cold.' He explained with a little more warmth. 'I'm never in one place for long, even someone at full strength would be exhausted.'

'But, Sherlock; I've not got a cold! You may be good, but you surely can't predict that your next case and me falling ill will coincide!' I insisted.

'I have a case! I'm meeting John at home in an hour when he finishes work. However, Sam, your eyes a slightly out of focus, your voice is slightly raspy, you have a headache-'

'From the lack of coffee!' I protested wondering how he knew that my had yet to stop throbbing. I wasn't going to ask.

'You drifted off for twenty seconds when I was reading the manuscript and you were observing me.' He pulled on my arm when I refused to meet his eyes. 'Sam, I will happily show off to you at a later date, but it's November-'

'Because I'd forgotten that since I looked at the paper this morning?'

'Cute.' He threw me his quirky smile, his hand still burning its way through my thin long sleeved top. 'My point is that tonight you should be in bed when your fever hits and not roaming the below-zero streets with me.'

'And your Doctor.' I exploded. 'I couldn't think of a better place to be.' I couldn't believe I was arguing about an illness I didn't have. Sure, my throat felt like I'd swallowed nails for breakfast, but that was nothing. I reasoned that it was hypochondria that I felt worse since Sherlock was talking about having a cold.

'My Doctor will send you right home if you continue.' He finally moved his hand to check his phone. 'I have to go, pieces are moving into place. John's informed me he's found the location of the body.' He jumped up excitedly as if a fire had been placed in his soul; there was a glimpse of the missing piece, leaving me wanting more. He pulled on his coat sharply, smiling broadly to himself. I inwardly giggled. Only Sherlock would look as happy as a six year old on Christmas day at the prospect of a dead body. I found it unnerving that this didn't bother me. He retrieved his scarf from the chair.

'The game is on?' I asked as he continued to vibrate with excited energy, turning what I would make into his catchphrase back on him once again.

'It is indeed Miss Doyle.' He clamped his leather bound hands to either side of my face and abruptly kissed the crown of my head. 'Get home safe, take a taxi. Get into bed and reread those chapters. I will check on you tomorrow; regardless of where you're located!' He spoke softly, his hand still on my face. He nodded a further goodbye before leaving the shop.

My head burned where he'd kissed me. It wasn't romantic or passionate but something more familiar. I'd take what I could get. There was a concern in his voice when he spoke, as if it pained him to leave me there and not see me home. I made my way to the counter after gathering my things. I pulled out my purse in order to pay my tab to once again discover that he'd paid.

I pulled my coat tighter and ventured into the crisp winter evening. I was contemplating where to go for food before heading home when I realised my stomach was in protest. Perhaps Sherlock was right and I was getting sick.

I'd managed to get to the bottom of the road when a black car pulled up and the window lowered with an electric buzz. 'Miss Doyle?' The darkness called. Despite my better judgement, that had loaned Sherlock's voice for the evening, I engaged with the voice by approaching the window and peering inside. 'Would you care for a ride?' The smooth voice offered.

'My mother told me not to accept lifts from strangers.' I teased confidently. I recognised the man instantly. I knew who he was; Sherlock had mentioned him; warned me.

'Come come child, I'm hardly a stranger. My brother will have undoubtedly mentioned me by now!' He eased himself out of the car and ushered me in. I felt like I'd been hypnotised. He barked my address at the driver and we set off.

'How well is the book coming along?' He asked and I mumbled something positive. We let a moment or two pass in an uncomfortable silence. 'This really is a turn up for the books. I spend the majority of his life being his only friend.' I audibly snort at this. That was rude and I'm never rude; I've allowed Sherlock's opinion to colour my own. Mycroftt chooses to ignore it however, 'and here you are, the second in the space of a year; ovaries to boot. I do hope he's not set your heart a flutter? I really would hate for you to break his heart by having yours stopped.'

'Is that a threat?' I enquired boldly.

'Lord no, but you run the risk of being fatally hurt; he's married to his job.' He cleared his statement up for me. I did notice he did take pride in my thought that he was threatening me. 'Loving you will ensure he leads you to your death.'

'Let me stop you there Mycroftt. Let's not fool ourselves into thinking Sherlock is capable of love.' The moment I uttered this new found knowledge, I knew it to be true.

'You're a feisty one.' He smiled; a thought glinted in his eye. 'How loyal are you then; knowing the man can never love you back-'

'I will not even dignify that with a response.' I flared. I was beginning to feel dizzy. 'You are nothing but a bully; and you don't scare me! Also, I very much doubt I am a friend. In a year's time, neither of you will remember my name.'

'For your sake, I hope you're right.' The car pulled up at my building and I got out quickly without thanking him or saying goodbye. The window lowered once again. 'I don't think you value yourself as much as Sherlock does.' He stated to the back of my retreating head. 'Ask him about Moriarty, Miss Doyle.' I turned round at this. 'There's a reason why he's not told you. He, against his better judgement, cares about you and does not want to scare you away.'

'Well I'm sorry to disappoint you but I've never been afraid of the Big Bad Wolf.' I stuffed my frozen hands into my coat pocket. 'I have seen enough death to know not to fear what is on the other side. Good day to you Mr Holmes.'

I walked calmly and boldly into my building, climbing the stairs as I normally would. I only started shaking violently once I was safely inside my flat with the deadbolt firmly closed across the door.


	6. She's a Handsome Woman

_**AN: A little shorter than usual I'm afraid, but I don't want to add anything to it and take away from the chapter. I hope you like how I've develops/ presented Mycroft and Sherlock's relationship.**_

_**Big thanks to breakfastintiffanys, CrazyLara and XxLovelyLittleMeXx who have added this story to their favourites list.**_

_**Additional thanks to the following people for placing my story on their alerts... I do try to email people personally (especially to reviews) but a few of you don't accept PMs so I just want you to know I appreciate you reading:**_

_**Blooddance, C'estMoiLiz (Glad you're enjoying it), CrazyLara, FemaleOfTheSpecies, Hobbit Babe, ichixichigo, L6ur6, liv09, melstewarthm, Puskul, Serethiel96, Shy Fox Saki, ThreeQuartersOfTheWayThere and XxLoveyLittleMeXx**_

_**Enjoy...**_

_Chapter Six: She's a Handsome Woman_

'That was easy.' I droned to John as I open the door to our flat after climbing the 17 steps to our home. I threw my coat in the direction of the kitchen table.

'Sherlock, its 3am!' John complained. He always did that despite enjoying it immensely; he always slept better when he'd had a few hours to run around and forget about the pain. 'I think you're losing your touch.' He continued tartly. It was meant to hurt my pride but it did nothing but amuse me. The uninvited guest however didn't.

'I'm busy, now go away.' I flung myself onto the sofa and faced the back like a petulant child. His presence attacked me like a parasite and would not allow me to rest; how inconvenient. 'What do you want?' I sat up to face him when I felt his eyes on me.

'Pretty little thing you're experimenting on this time!' Mycroft commented. My blood ran cold. Couldn't leave her well alone, just had to go meddling.

'There better not be another head in the fridge Sherlock.' John shouted through to acknowledge that he was still listening while he was making our post task tea.

'She'd besotted but hasn't realised it yet; quite cute. Of course I had to let her know about that little insight. You've got a problem with this one though little brother; she's already worked out that you are incapable of love.' Mycroft informed me; I refused to comment. 'Are you going to lead that poor girl into your dangerous life when you and I both know that this experiment is null and void? Dear Sherlock, you already have one pet.' He gestured towards John. 'Do you really have a need for another when her only use it to now produce your offspring and keep house?'

'What are you really here for?' John interrupted when I failed to audibly rise to my brother's bait. Inside I was in emotional turmoil. Anger, fear, affection and pride all had new, Sam-like, definitions.

'A case and some news.' He explained as he placed a file on the desk beside him.

'I'll get to it once Sam is better,' I muttered sullenly, intending for it to be the case I showed her.

'You caught the beginnings of the flu too? You know; if you were capable of love she would be the perfect woman for you. Feisty and confident; in a broken sort of way.'

'News?' I snapped impatiently. He seemed pleased that he'd finally hit a nerve and I mentally kicked myself for such a reveal.

'Moriarty has been spotted in Switzerland but he is believed to be on the move. I suggest you draw your conclusions with Miss Doyle and set her free before she becomes a disposable pawn in this game of yours.' At this Mycroft left without another word. He floated downstairs and closed the door silently.

'Why didn't you correct him and tell him you cared for her?' John asked as he placed both our drinks on the table and collapsed in the chair that my brother had recently vacated.

'Because I don't' I lied openly lying back down on my sofa, relaxing into the cushions, knowing somehow; it wasn't going to last.

'Sherlock, it's only you and me here. Since when have I judged-'

'Stop it John. I have no idea! He wouldn't believe me because I don't believe it myself. I can't put it into words. What I think about her is irrational and illogical, and it does me well not to dwell upon it. Thank you.' I flared to John's amusement which irritated me further. 'Go away and let me rest.' I decided to feign annoyance at his presence. I was sure he could see right through it.

'It's driving you to distraction isn't it?'

'Yes!' I answered flatly.

'It'll pass,' John comforted me. 'Once you stop fighting it of course. Stop trying to compartmentalise it into what you know of the world and it'll become a little clearer.' He supported himself as he rose from the chair. 'Goodnight Sherlock.'

It was about time Moriarty made a return. A little problematic as I'd yet to divulge any information to Sam regarding his involvement in some of the cases that she was aware of. I'd hoped not to tell her. I did not want him to become part of the book; something I would have never been able to achieve had I have written it myself.

Mycroft would have undoubtedly planted the idea into her head to question me about him so now it was unavoidable. Mycroft was right; I could be putting her in danger by continuing my relationship with her. However John was equally correct; I cared about her; too much to be able to let her go with any conviction. No, something would have to be done to ensure her safety instead.

There was one hope; if my insufferable brother considered me incapable of sharing and returning her 'hidden' affection for me; it could be possible that Moriarty will be duped as well.

I'd slipped today; my hand reached for my lips where the scent of her shampoo still lingered. I doubt she would have read any more into than Mrs Hudson would her regular kiss on the cheek, but the response my body had to the gesture had me shook to the core. It had sent my mind into a spin and it had taken me the entire cab ride to regain my composure. Perhaps John was right and today I had lost my touch.

I contemplated moving to the bedroom but I was too comfortable here. Thoughts of her comforted me like Pablo de Sarasate once did and I slipped into a deep and wondrous sleep only to be awoken in the early hours when the sun danced into the room.


	7. Kaleidoscope Eyes

_**Hello all, I have to say a HUGE thank you to everyone. Over 150 hits yesterday evening alone; I'm so incredibly grateful and humbled.**_

_**A huge thank you and welcome to EmpressOfCookieMonster and casesensitive who have added my story to their favourites and to Arlothia and moonlightsade who have put me on Story Alert. Thank you everyone: D**_

_**Thank you to C'estMoiLiz, Hobbit Babe and CrazyLara for their reviews. I am incredibly grateful to Hobbit Babe who has paid me the biggest compliment in the world. :D Those of you who are looking forward to them working on a case together may have to wait just a little while longer... I'm only just beginning to write that chapter, because things for Sam and Sherlock have kind of fallen apart.**_

_**It's up a little earlier today because I'm off to spend some time in a coffee shop this afternoon writing (There's something satisfying about hand writing this fic- even the intensely painful hand cramp I suffered from last night)**_

_**Enjoy...**_

_Chapter Seven: Kaleidoscope Eyes._

I'd known she'd be there however I wasn't expecting her to be so ill. Mycroftt had been right and she was suffering from flu; something which would render anyone else bedridden. Yet she sat there in her old position, her back to the door, trying to fever that was raging inside her. She hadn't believed me when I said I'd check up on her.

'You should be in bed!' I declared, sitting opposite her, offering her a cup of ginger tea. She took it gratefully even though it seemed to cause her pain to lean over an inch to claim it. Her work lay abandoned on the table before her; even her music wasn't her comforting friend today.

'It's warmer here.' She explained with a thick voice, smoothing down her unusually matted hair. 'My boiler's broken and the landlord won't come out until tomorrow evening and he won't give me permission to contact the supplier personally.' She smiled weakly before crumpling up her face. She sneezed into her ball of tissues; 'You not going to say 'I told you so!'?' She enquired sarcastically, hiding the tissues in her cardigan pocket.

'It's cliqued.' I settled into the chair and removed my coat. 'So why are you not telling me about your meeting with my delightfully charming brother?' I questioned her, expecting it to be the first thing she'd mention once he'd sat down but I'd watched her focus drift away instead. I was not used to an unenthusiastic audience. I usually captivated her.

'Why would I tell you something you clearly already know?' She was irritable and I, like a fool, was pushing her.

'Because you have questions-' I began but she cut me off, spilling some of the hot liquid from her cup as she angrily rammed it onto the table.

'Not today Sherlock!' She snapped once more. 'While I am grateful of your concern and your tea; which I would never think of trying but actually tastes fantastic. Well, the very fact that I can taste it at all is amazing.' She rambled. She was clearly distracted; forcing back a tear caused by the pain on her burnt hand. 'I'd rather be alone.' I was being told I'd out stayed my welcome; today was about a lot of new thing for me. She was treating me exactly how I'd treated others, however she was being beautifully polite and gracious as possible about it. It was also a lie. She did not, regardless of her protest, want to be alone. I told her as much and she responded by sighing in what I believed to be frustration. For once I couldn't read her and it set my teeth on edge.

'What is it that I'm doing that irritates you so much?' I questioned.

'I'm barely able to keep up with your intelligence at the best of times.' She was tragically modest, unaware of her potential and completely and utterly wrong. 'I cannot amuse you with my mediocre brain today Sherlock. I cannot ask you the questions that are swimming around my head because if I attempt to retrieve them from my swamp of a brain I'd bloody drown.' She snapped. Then with an air of defiance she uttered: 'Besides, I am not your brother's puppet. I will not be manipulated into forcing your hand. I'm not interested in any information you won't give freely.' My heart filled with pride as she spoke this way, only to be distracted with she burst into tears.

'I'm sorry. I've upset you.' I muttered, watching her clutch her wounded hand.

'It's not you, I'm in sodding pain.' She grumbled before realising what he'd said; she stared at me and blinked in disbelief 'You never apologise!' _I never a lot of things Sam, but you're managing to rewrite my rule book._ I grudgingly admitted to myself.

'How bad is it?' I changed the subject before I said something I'd regret. I could feel the heat of her fever radiate out over me and I was concerned that she could really do some damage to herself if she continued to over exert herself. She'd not drank nearly enough liquids and I was certain she'd not taken any medicine to help her body fight the infection.

'Like a baby elephant has trampled around my head for the last twelve hours and that a toaster has taken a bite out of my hand.' She sniffed. 'I really shouldn't be here should I? I'm probably infecting everyone in the room.' She was so selfless and completely vulnerable. 'I'm going to go-' she couldn't bring herself to use the word home. She was struggling to even put on her coat as I vacated my seat, ushered her back into her own and bent down onto my knees to ease it on for her. She didn't know it yet, but I was not going to allow her to go back to her flat.

'Thank you.' She whispered when I'd not removed my hands from her collar. 'Now I will see you-' I still hadn't removed them. '-What?' I rested my hands upon my bent knees as it seemed my contact was confusing her.

'You assume I'm going to allow you out of my sight?'

'Oh Sherlock, don't try to be the hero. It doesn't suit you.' She stood gingerly. 'I assume you've paid my tab?'

'Correct.' I picked up her bag and disposed of her belongings inside before she could disrupt her already precarious balance further by placing a weight over her shoulder.

'What on earth are you doing?' She demanded, clutching her temples that were undoubtedly pulsing.

'I'm taking you home.' I watched her wince at the word. She contemplated her situation for a moment before coming to an internal decision.

'Fine, but we're walking and you're not talking.' She surprised me by pulling me close and using my arm for support.

'As you wish,' we walked out into the cold and instantly she began to shiver and shake despite the thick coat that was wrapped around her. There was a light fluttering of snow in the air. As her steps progressed she leaned further onto me for support. I knew she wouldn't be able to walk the whole way and I was hoping soon she could give in so I could easily navigate a taxi to Baker Street.

'It's a bit chilly isn't it?' She observed through chattering teeth. I stopped her mid step, removed my scarf and carefully arranged it around her neck.

'People often underestimate the benefit of a scarf.' I explained as she looked at me blankly; her eyes had lost all focus. 'When did you last eat?'

'When did _YOU _last eat?' She responded loudly.

'I don't need energy to fight an infection Sam.' I argued. 'You really are tiresome.' In hindsight this was a mistake, even with the soft tone I'd used. Her eyes widened and watered as if she'd just been slapped. Recoiling instantly from my touch she began storming away in the opposite direction she needed to be going, muttering something about previously warning me she wasn't the best company when she was sick. The last word I heard, and she shouted it to ensure I heard it, was a loud and volatile 'BASTARD!' This was only a moment before she lost consciousness. I managed to scoop her into my arms before she hit the floor.

She was right about me being a hero, but for her, for today; I'd make an exception.


	8. Stall Me

_**Unusual for me, but I'm updating twice today. Mainly because I will be in school with my Sixth-formers tomorrow and won't be able to access FanFiction.**_

_**This chapter is therefore dedicated to the fifteen young adults who made my NQT year memorable; they listened to my obsessive ramblings about Benedict Cumberbatch albeit with increasing levels of eye rolling.**_

_**FemaleOfTheSpecies, Chick and Hobbit Babe: thank you for your reviews. Yes, Hobbit Babe, he should indeed play the hero more often. Chick; I'm addicted to writing it. FemaleOfTheSpecies; that's just totally awesome!**_

_**Good luck to those who gain any results tomorrow!**_

_**Enjoy and I'll see you all Friday :D**_

_Chapter Eight: Stall Me_

I had no idea how long I'd been asleep. I had no recollection of falling asleep at all. I'd known it was a big mistake to have gone out but I had ignored my body's protests. Sherlock had arrived, he's insisted on taking me home...

That's when it started to get hazy.

I'd passed out on the street! Even with my eyes closed I knew my surroundings were unfamiliar. I shot up as I realised I was in Sherlock's bed. The room was dark except for a floor lamp that was in the far corner of the room. It shed enough like to see Sherlock asleep on a chair at the foot of the bed. His legs where hung over the arm and onto the bed while his head rested upon the back of the chair. He seemed so peaceful and surprisingly comfortable.

I eased myself back onto his pillow and drifted back to sleep.

When I awoke some hours later, Sherlock had vacated his chair and the sun was fighting its way through the curtains. I forced myself out of bed and ventured towards the only door in the room. It open out onto a warm, cluttered and inviting living room.

A fire had been started but Sherlock was nowhere to be seen. I sat down on the chair that faced away from the doors and towards the obstructed window.

'On the sofa.' Is voice insisted the moment I relaxed into the chair.

'Morning Sherlock.' I croaked, refusing to move. 'I'll be on my way as soon as I've woken fully.'

'You'll do no such thing.' He sat upon the couch to my right, looking at me seriously. 'John is on his way down to check up on you.'

'I have a cold.' I pulled my legs up to my chest, bracing myself for the pain that a shiver was going to cause when it arrived.

'Flu actually.' I was corrected as John switched places with Sherlock, who disappeared. 'Hello Sam.'

'Hello John.' I smiled.

'Feet down.' He directed and I complied. He proceeded to conduct routine diagnostic tests on me. 'An improvement from last night.' He concluded, reading my temperature. 'It, however, is still the flu.' He informed firmly when I'd smiled victoriously. 'I'll write you a prescription for a few bits. Sherlock can go pick them up for you and I'll pop back to see you on my lunch break; probably around two.'

'Do I really have to stay here?' I leaned into him and whispered. 'I feel like I'm imposing.'

'I'm afraid you do. I don't do house calls to flats, the stairs you see!' He soothed with a wink. 'Don't worry, I'll bring Sarah over for tea and to keep you company this evening.' He patted my knee before going in search of Sherlock.

My stomach churned and a wave of fever ran over my skin. I pulled my knees up and hugged them tightly before bringing my hands to my throbbing head.

'Here you go.' He thrust a mug of sweetened tea at me. 'I've drawn you a bath. I've left you a towel and some things to change into beside the bath.' He had his coat on. 'I'm going to get these for you.' He folded the prescription and placed it into his inside pocket. He bustled out of the room only to return a moment later. 'You won't drown in the bath will you?'

'No, I think I mastered the art of not drowning many years ago. But feel free to come observe my expertise if you're in doubt.'

'See you later.' His fleeting voice shouted and a moment later I heard muffled voices before the front door opened and closed with a snap.

I slowly pulled myself to my feet and, taking my tea with me, went in search of the bathroom. I shuffled along as to move my muscles sent searing pain up to my brain which I didn't like very much. I took the only logical choice and tried the third door that lead from the room.

The bath was full with bubbles. I placed a tentative finger into the water; I was pleasantly surprised to discover that it was a comfortable temperature. I removed my clothes and slipped into the bath. It was only then I noticed that there was a book resting on the extended lip of the bath. I thumbed the pages of the worn Catcher in the Rye to ensure there were no loose pages. The water marks and broken spine made me think it was a novel Sherlock read often. I couldn't say favourite; because there was nothing that he could empathise with in the story.

I read until the water became tepid and my feet shrivelled. I let some of the water out to replace it with hot while I washed my unmanageably long hair quickly and rinsed the soap out fully. Considering how ill I felt, it was the most relaxing and refreshing bath I'd had in a long time.

I was sat in front of the fire towelling my hair dry when I heard the front door close with a snap. I instantly pulled at the shirt he'd left me in the hope that this time it would cover my bum which was encased in a pair of his boxers.

Mortifying.

'You survived then?' He observed as he entered the room. 'Just put it in the kitchen Mrs Hudson.' He was followed by an older woman who carried a steaming casserole pot. She did as was asked, despite the rudeness in his voice, and placed the pot on the table.

'Just this once dear; and no eating it all to yourself. Hello dear.' She acknowledged my presence. 'And I want that pot cleaned before you bring it back Sherlock.' Without another word, she was gone.

'Why do you have such a mane if it's so hard to maintain?' He sat on the chair beside me.

'Usually,' I coughed. 'I have a hair dryer.' My arms were sore and considered asked Sherlock to dry it for me, but I'm sure he'd just laugh at my request.

'I've brought yours from your flat.' He pointed to my small suitcase that I'd not noticed him bring in.

'You went to my flat?' I stood, incredulous.

'You're going to be here for a few days and while I can't deny that you're not aesthetically pleasing stood there in my shirt.' He paused to take in the blush that had risen to my face at his compliment. Well, at least I assumed it was a compliment. 'If we were both to utilise my wardrobe; we'd find ourselves out of clothes by Tuesday. Now, go dry your hair.' I clutched the suitcase and wheeled it into Sherlock's bedroom to dry my hair.

'Thank God, I thought that sound would never end.' He muttered when I arrived back in the living room. In time that I was gone he'd lined to couch with pillows and blankets. He insisted this was where I sat as he bustled about in the kitchen.

'A girl could get used to this.' I laughed.

'Being ill? I'm sure anybody could adapt enough to function if given time.' I knew he was teasing and understood completely what I had meant. I decide to let him have that one as there's no way he would graciously accept a compliment about his hospitality. 'Here, chicken soup,' He passed me a now cooled bowl of chicken broth. 'Home-made,' He declared proudly as if he'd made it himself.

'By your landlady.' I reprimanded him.

'She enjoys it.' He argued, taking his own seat once more with his own portion of soup.

'You take advantage.' I refused to let him off lightly.

'I do.' He admitted honestly. We sat in silence; he devoured his soup quickly while I used all my effort to try and eat as much as I could. I abandoned the soup before I'd even gotten halfway through.

'I have to leave soon.' He informed me apologetically. I wondered what made him feel so honour bound to me?

'It's ok, I'll probably sleep anyway.' I reassured him. 'And John's coming by to check on me.'

'John!' He exclaimed as he retrieved a box of tablets from the bag at his side. He kneeled at my side and proceeded to remove two tablets from their seals and place them in my hand. 'Two every four hours,' He explained as he watched me swallow them with a gulp of water. 'He's also given you something that will help you sleep.' He brushed my hair behind my ear before he remembered himself and collected the bowls and put them in the kitchen.

When he returned he seemed flustered. He stood, prepared to go out. He was deep in thought when he made to leave.

'Wait, Sherlock?' I shouted.

'Yes?'

'You're not expecting any guests are you; Invited or otherwise?' I questioned, remembering some of his recollections of the past few weeks. 'It's just; I'm not up for entertaining.'

'No Sam,' He laughed deeply, once again forgetting himself. 'No guests. I would not leave you here alone unless I thought you were perfectly safe.'


	9. Sarah Smiles

_**So, I got home earlier than I expected. I'm currently trying to write chapter 14.**_

_**Thank you once again for your beautiful reviews and I hope those of you I can contact are enjoying the sneak peeks I'm sending you?**_

_Chapter Nine: Sarah Smiles_

Music played softly in the background and had featured in my dream before I'd awoken. I listen to the soft talking of John and a woman in the kitchen, Sherlock was sat meditating on the chair beside me when I sat up.

'How do you feel?' He questioned without opening his eyes.

'Like death.' I circled my head around my neck. It was all I could do to release the tension in my shoulders without causing more pain. 'How was your afternoon?'

'Boring.' He mumbled him sourly.

'Ignore him.' John insisted as he arrived with cutlery, placing it on the table 'He's allowed Donovan and her bitch to get to him once again.'

'I did not allow-' Sherlock began. I watched him calculate how this argument could go; '- it's all your damn blog's fault.'

'Don't hate the blog. The blog inflates your oversized ego when it suits you.' He turned to me, 'How have you've slept through the last twenty minutes of him whining?' He asked me with a laugh. 'Sherlock, tea's almost up and I want my seat; sit on the couch with Sam.' He did what he was told without protest. I could feel his leg graze mine despite the room the other side of him.

'There better be wine?' He demanded his arm stretching out on the back of the couch behind me. It occurred to me, due to his disposition and the slight slurring of his words, that he perhaps he had already had a drink or two while I had been sleeping.

'Now Sherlock, that's hardly fair-' John began to protest, knowing I wouldn't be allowed any.

'It's ok John, I don't mind really.' I insisted meekly as Sarah appeared with two plates of food which she passed to Sherlock and John in turn. John placed his onto the table as he disappeared into the kitchen to retrieve a bottle of red wine.

'Hello.' Sarah welcomed me warmly, 'I've gotten you soup. Its shop bought I'm afraid. Nowhere near as good as Mrs Hudsons-'

'-They wouldn't let me ask again,' Sherlock snatched the bottle from John, filled his glass and gulped at his wine as if it were water. He really must of had a terrible day.

'-Because it's rude Sherlock.' John added pointedly, sitting down in his chair as Sarah returned with the bowl of soup and her own food.

'If you keep it down I can prepare you something else.' She sat down on the floor at the feet of John; my heart melted at the sight. If I believed perfection was possible; they would be it.

'How were both of your days?' I asked and they both paused; food in mouths, eyes wide. 'Oh no, did someone die on you?'

'No, no, no! Just not used to people-' He cast a look at Sherlock, who was in his own world; food abandoned, wine almost gone. '-being polite and considerate. It was good. A little slow, but it makes for a nice rest bite from Sherlock.'

'What?' He snapped.

'Oh nothing,' John rang out before turning his attention to Sarah; 'How about you honey; weren't you at the hospital at one point?'

'Yes, a woman came in with shortness of breath. Turns out she had a collapsed lung.'

'Boring.' Sherlock declared.

'Not for the woman with the collapsed lung,' I placed a comforting hand on his knee. He considered my argument with a sip of wine.

'I suppose you're right.' He exclaimed as if no one had ever explained it to him before. I looked to a gobsmacked John and Sarah; I instantly removed my hand assuming that was their cause for shock.

'While you're at it, can you try and get it into his head that the earth does indeed go round the sun.'

'But it doesn't John,' I watched Sherlock edge closer at this. 'Surely you've realised by now that the earth revolves around Sherlock.' Both Sarah and John laughed at this. Sherlock dropped his arm from behind the couch onto my shoulders, causing me to gasps quietly and stare into his blue eyes.

'How long have you been waiting to use that one?' He questioned.

'A while,' I answered sheepishly. He continued to look at me with expectant eyes. 'Since I read John's blog.' I admitted.

'Thank you.' He leaned his head into mine.

'What for?' My heart was in my throat.

'For your humour!' He explained his smile so wide it revealed ceases in his cheeks.

'My long planned and over developed humour?' There was a moment; a thing, a something, a spark. We, for those few seconds, were the only people in the room, the world, the universe. I would not be the one to look away first.

'Sherlock?' Sarah interrupted and addressed him timidly. John would later explain that this was one of the first times she felt comfortable enough to try and talk to him. 'We were thinking about going to see the new play that opens in the Court next month. Would you and Sam like to join us?'

I never heard his answer because all of a sudden a wave of heat bubbled over the fever I was already feeling and I knew I had to throw up.'

I was retching up the last of my stomach lining in the bathroom when I felt a supportive hand upon my back.

'Go away Sher-'

'It's me.' Sarah's voice came from behind me. She brushed my hair back as I flushed and sat up on my heels. 'I'm going to stay here tonight in case you need anything.' She handed me a wet cloth that I proceeded to rub behind my neck and over my face. 'I also thought you might need this,' she produced a brand new toothbrush and inwardly cheered. 'Also thought you might like these?' She passed me a set of flannel pyjamas and a colour co-ordinated tank top. I'd forgotten what it was like to have someone buy me things I thought I'd like. 'I had a feeling the boys wouldn't think about things like this.' She looked to Sherlock's shirt which was now stuck to my body with sweat. She was right; the things Sherlock had packed were as useful as a bikini in the Arctic.

'He remembered my hair dryer.' I defended him with a laugh.

'You're a good influence on him Sam.' Sarah smiled and then excused herself while I changed.

I trembled as I stood, unbuttoning the shirt; my energy flagging. I had truly never felt so bad. I slowly placed my feet into the bottoms one at a time; still feeling like I was sea sick. I put on my tank top before brushing my teeth three times.

When I opened the door to the bathroom it was not Sarah stood there but Sherlock. His eyes were glazed and his skin was flushed from the wine. I took in his pyjamas and dressing gown and his dishevelled hair. Before I'd known what I'd I was doing I let out a sigh.

'Is something wrong?'

'Just,' I thought for moment about what to say 'aesthetically pleasing.' I chewed on my bottom lip.

'Come on, to bed with you.'

'But I'm not tired.' I sulked as he offered me his arm. I hit it away and I folded my arms across my chest. 'I'm not going to bed.' The fever was making me delirious and I would cringe when Sherlock would later recall this night.

'Sam?' He growled. 'Do I have to carry you?'

'Kicking and bloody screaming!' I insisted when he attempted to pick me up. Throwing in a kick to the shin for good measure; I pulled away as soon as he let go 'I won't sleep Sherlock. My head is pounding, my stomach is empty... my throats like sandpaper, my nose is like a water park and I want my mum.' I sobbed, my legs falling beneath me. I allowed him to pull me up and into an unexpected hug. My head fitted under his chin perfectly and I breathed in his scent.

'What can I do to make you feel better? I don't know what to do!' He pleaded, genuinely in pain because he didn't know how to help.

'Well, will you tell me a story if I get into bed?' I sniffed removing my head from the niche.

'If I must.' He sighed as I shuffled out of the bathroom, his hand in mine. Apparently I had the thumb of my other hand in my mouth. I still deny it to this day; more so when we're in company than when we're alone. 'This is why you don't have any friends.'

'I have friends Sherlock. I have you.'


	10. Lullaby

_**Ok, so the game changer is here! This is my favourite, most heart breaking, chapter so far. I hope you love it as much as I do.**_

_**Thank you, and welcome, to LadyDerethia and TheDoctorsMistress who added When the Day Met the Night to their favourites :D**_

_**Once again, thank you to Hobbit Babe, C'estMoiLiz and CrazyLara for your reviews. As of Monday I will be moving to a weekly upload rather than a daily. Just because I return to my job and I still want the quality of my writing to be as good. I hope that everyone can be patient as it will be worth it.**_

_**Enjoy...**_

_Chapter Ten: Lullaby_

I helped her into bed and placed the covers over her. This was all very new to me; I had hoped the alcohol would help me make sense of the situation but instead it had dulled my senses and loosened my lips. I passed her the tablets that John had indicated would help her sleep.

Apparently this was important when a person was ill- it was hard for them to get a decent night's sleep what with the fever, aches and pains. I wasn't to know- I couldn't recall any time when I'd had more than a brief sneezing fit.

She took them without protest; her walk from the bathroom with her hand clutched in mine had seemed to pacify her; along with the thumb that she had spent the last minute chewing. I pulled it from her face and placed her arms at her side. She insisted I sat with her for a while. I lay down beside her watching the light from the fire I'd started dance across her face.

'I refuse to give you a good night kiss.' I blurted out my thoughts. I mentally cursed myself for that irreparable slip and told myself I would not drink again while in her presence.

'I didn't think you would.' She insisted, feigning offence.

'I'm not saying that I would object to being kissed by you. It's just that the mucus is a little off putting.' Except it wasn't, it just meant I wanted to kiss her elsewhere; her head, her hand, her cheek.

'Way to woo a girl Holmes.' She laughed before opening her eyes. 'Wait 'while I wouldn't object'; is that your way of saying you like me?' She shot up in bed and stared at me. I told myself that she would not remember unless I chose to remind her at a later date, so what was the harm in being truthful.

'Terribly so.' Except now I'd acknowledged my feeling fully to myself. I clambered out of bed, walked to the other side and eased her down. 'Goodnight Sam.' I felt the need to escape before I could say more. I was at the door before she spoke again.

'Sherlock, tell me a story?' She sounded so young, so fragile, so innocent.

'I don't know any.' I ventured back into the room, resting once again on the bed.

'Tell me about Moriarty.' She suggested pulling herself onto her side to face me, her eyes open and focused on me.

'It will give you nightmares.'

'Nothing new there.' She mumbled, 'Please?'

I recounted 'the Study in Pink' as John had called it. She'd paused me and asked questions about how John and I met. While it was irrelevant, I obliged as it was clear she was as fond of John as I was. It also kept me away from talking about Moriarty.

'So he didn't actually show himself?' She asked, her hand tracing a button on my pyjama top while still keeping her eyes on me. 'You don't know what he looks like?'

'Not then, he didn't. I didn't meet him personally until our altercation at the pool. Do you remember reading about the incidents that led to that?' I asked before I began to tell her about the games Moriarty planned for me, but she stopped me.

'Describe him; for the book...' She explained. I disapproved but figured that she wouldn't recall the details in the morning.

'He's slightly taller than John.' My mind flashed back to images of him at the pool. 'Dark hair, flare for disguises,' I'd growled bitterly, recalling hid pretence as Molly's gay boyfriend. 'He had a charming nose, mundane eyes and an indifferent sense of style.' I'd begun stroking her hair and found it pleasantly calming. 'Why are you more interested in his appearance than his activity?' I questioned, completely and blissfully unaware of what was about to spill out of her mouth. I assumed she was going to tell me it was because between myself and John she knew all there was to know. How wrong I had been.

'I am already an expert on Moriarty,' she leaned into my hand, her eyes closed and prepared for sleep.

'How so?' I sobered quickly, fear sinking under my skin.

'You trying to say you didn't do any research into me?' Her words were coming out thick and mumbled as the drug began to take its hold. I willed her to fight it.

'I knew you were a good writer, what else did I need to know?' The truth was she was the first person I'd never researched. 'Sam, Moriarty?' I shook her gently to get an answer.

'My parents were his first kill.' She mumbled and I had to lean in closer to hear. 'While I was in my final year at university- I walked in- bullet in the brain. Got the call- he – he- he told me. If he'd not phoned- it would have been days- They'd retired to the country. They live- middle- middle- middle...' I felt her body so slack and I knew I'd lost her for the night. No, I'd lost her forever. I decided then and there it was too dangerous; I'd have to cut her out my life. She was too much of an easy target.

I pulled out some new clothes and scrambled out of the room without looking back at her. I found the article I had printed off when Moriarty had first raised his ugly head:

**Retired government official, Arthur Doyle, and his wife were discovered by their daughter upon her return from university. Catherine Samantha Doyle is believed to have received a phone called from a man called Mr Moriarty while studying English Literature at University of London.**

**Police were unable to find any DNA linking a third person to the crime scene and have not been able to trace the call Miss Doyle received. Police have suspended the investigation; concluding it was a murder/suicide.**

**Miss Doyle refused to comment further.**

A second article, printed a year ago by the same paper, was an apology to Miss Doyle for circulating the claim that Moriarty was made up; that the same Moriarty had planted DNA of her parents at a copycat killing.

It was small. Something that could have been missed; I was sure Sam had. I was ignoring the fact that her real name was Catherine. I wasn't going to see her again to ask about it; it wasn't worth dwelling upon.

I changed, collected my passport and proceeded to knock on John's bedroom door until he stepped out, blurry eyed and dishevelled.

'Yes Sherlock?'

'I've just received a call.' I began my; heart breaking. I hoped he didn't ask too many questions; I would break under scrutiny.

'I'll get changed.' He said instantly.

'No, there's no need. I've got to go to Japan.' I reminded myself to contact Mycroft once in the taxi to the airport. 'Just take care of Sam for me. Let her go back to her flat only when you think she's better.'

'What? Wait?' John spluttered. 'I thought you were going to ask her to take the room downstairs?'

'She said no!' I rubbed my forehead as I lied.

'Well she's hardly in the right frame of mind. Why don't I ask her? I could have her all moved in before-'

'She said no John. Now do what I ask and stop interfering.' I left without another word. I'd not even said goodbye to her.

She'd never forgive me.


	11. Bittersweet

_**Hey guys; tomorrow will be the last daily update.**_

_**Welcome to Klutzygal12 who has added the story to her favourites :D**_

_**Enjoy**_

_Chapter Eleven: Bittersweet_

It was early evening; six weeks had gone by since I'd last seen him. I'd gone to call him so many times, but what do I say to the man who was clearly avoiding me?

When I'd woken up in the morning I was worse than I'd been the day before. I couldn't even move; I couldn't raise my head from the pillow, I couldn't breathe and I could barely open my eyes. I waited; any moment he was going to breeze in and wish me good morning.

At eleven John had woken me from my medicated slumber to check up on me. He informed me that Sherlock had been called to Japan. I understood; the vices of being the world's only consultative detective. This did not stop me from curling up and crying like a child when John left for work.

It was a week before John would let me leave. Each evening John would come home and spend time with me. We'd put random stuff on the TV, he'd tell me about his day and most importantly we avoided talk of Sherlock. I'd secretly hoped that he'd be back before I left. No such luck.

By the second week I was back to my routine; the tea shop had new furniture. Why did things go and change when you weren't around them? I now had comfy chintzy chairs to sink into. Sherlock would hate them. I reprimanded myself for the thought and turned the volume of my music up to blast him out of my head. It still didn't work; I'd become one of those people who looked up expectantly at the door every time a breeze brushed my face.

By the fourth week I'd moved back to my old chair facing away from the door out of protest. John text to ask how I was and I ignored it. He rang; twice. He gave up after that.

I was suffering withdrawal; I couldn't eat, I didn't sleep and worst of all, I couldn't write. Part of me thought, hoped, that if I ignored John; Sherlock would worry and come in search of me. I cursed my irrationality- I'd known this would happen; I'd even told his brother as much the day before my wall of protection came crashing down.

I knew he was back. I could feel his presence in the country; like I was a sodding compass and he was north. He'd not given me any warning. I wouldn't lower myself to say that he'd not given me an opportunity to apologise; after all what could I have done that was so bad he'd flee the country?

Last week was an improvement; they'd hired a new guy. Aesthetically pleasing I thought and instantly rejected the term because it reminded me of him. Charlie was cute, intelligent and didn't treat me like a pariah. He gave me the social contact that I needed; something I wouldn't have needed if Sherlock hadn't given me my first hit. Charlie caught me unawares as I paid my tab; he was interested in what I was reading. We currently had a three o'clock routine; we'd catch up at the counter while I waited for my tea to stew.

Today I was writing again. I craved peppermint tea but I was not prepared for the onslaught of memories and emotions that the scent would bring. I ordered a hot chocolate instead; he'd not tainted that.

'What are you doing tonight?' Charlie asked me. I looked at him as if he had spoken in a completely different language. 'Do you fancy a drink?' He tried a different approach.

'I'm flattered, I really am-' I stammered. 'It's just that I-'

'I understand.' He smiled at me and in an instant I wish I'd met him first.

As I packed away my things a few hours later he waved me goodbye. I was so absorbed in my own thoughts that I almost knocked someone off their feet. It was only when I looked up I noticed who it was.

'Fancy seeing you here Sam.' He spoke rigidly; John could never lie and I knew it had been planned.

'Hello.' I pulled at my coat nervously; the onslaught was not to be avoided today.

'How are you? You didn't come in for your check up?'

'I had the flu John.' I mocked him, but I still couldn't hide the edge in my voice. We both know I was avoiding him; ashamed at being ostracised by Sherlock. 'What are you doing here John?' No matter how I were to sugar coat the statement; it would have come across rude.

'I have tickets to see the play at the Court-'

'What about –' I began to ask.

'Sarah and I are on a break, and I'm avoiding Sherlock.' My stomach lurched when John said his name.

'Well there seems to be a lot of that going around.' I muttered sadly.

'Will you?' His eyes pleaded. 'I'll even take you for dinner. And walk you home.'

'Well a girl can't refuse an offer like that.' I broke my face into a smile and took his arm. My dear John; the brother I never had.

While sat eating dinner in the bistro beside the Court I interrogated John about Sarah. They seemed so solid, so unsinkable. How wrong I was.

'Sherlock,' He apologised when he saw me flinch at his reference. 'Well, he's been rubbing me up the wrong way.' John finished his plate and pushed it aside. 'He's worse that ever; he's had Mrs Hudson in tears five times since he's gotten home. Well, Sarah gave me an ultimatum, completely deserved; I was taking it out on her. She told me I had to move or we were over.'

I nodded, taking it all in.

'I can't leave-' He continued.

'You don't owe Sherlock anything. He does not deserve your time or care.' I shouted.

'But what about Mrs Hudson? Donovan once told me Sherlock would kill one day. If I'm not there it could be her and I'd never forgive myself.'

'You can't think like that.' I insisted, wondering if Sherlock was indeed capable of murder. We changed the subject after that. All roads, I worried, led to Sherlock. We shared a sweet before casually joining the throngs of people entering the building next door. It was nice to actually have company for a change.

John had amazing seats. The rows filled and the hum of excited voices filled me with bittersweet hope. Sherlock had taught me it was ok to want to be around people. As the house lights when down I'd noticed two empty seats to John's right and I felt so sad; Sherlock had said yes to the double date.

I was in my own head as we walked home. It was John who broke the silence:

'What happened that night?'

'Your guess is as good as mine John. I remember very little after going to throw up. I try not to waste too much time on it because it paralyses my heart.' I explain.

'He'd not the same without you in his life.' John insisted.

'Sounds like it was for the best; I was turning him into something he wasn't. I loved him for who he was; not for trying.' I'd not stalled. I'd completed the stupid complex sentence. I couldn't take it back so instead I closed my eyes and berated myself.

'Don't worry; he gets to everyone like that.' He assured me. 'Have you contacted him?'

'Don't you think it's weird that he didn't arrive back until I left?'

'He said-' I stared at him sceptically, '-Yes, I did think it was a little out of character.' He'd caved. 'Won't you call-'

'He broke my heart John.' I lost my temper with him. 'I've just managed to glue it back together and you want me to hand it back to him to have another swing? He didn't even say goodbye John. He didn't even give me a reason.'

'But-'

'No buts John. That man is not capable of love. He's aware of the concept, he knows how it looks and he tries to mimic it. But really feeling it, it's impossible.' I wiped away a single tear.

'I'm sorry,' He pulled me into a hug and it was only then I sobbed. 'I don't want to lose you too! This bastard is ruining my life.'

'I'm still here. You just need to give me time.' I kissed him on the cheek. 'My dear John Watson; I love you.' I knew it was true; I felt a sisterly love for him.

'Love you too.' He kissed my forehead before allowing me to venture back into my prison.


	12. The Only Difference Between Martyrdom

_**Hello,**_

_**Because I'm making the most of the last of my summer holidays I made a huge dent in the story today... which means I'm treating you with an extra dose before I go to bed :D**_

_**Welcome justsummer... thank you for putting my story on alert. I hope you enjoy this chapter.**_

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_**Enjoy.**_

_Chapter Twelve: The Only Difference Between Martyrdom and Suicide is Press Coverage._

I sat staring at the door. I'd not changed out on my pyjamas in two days. A cloud hung in my mind and prevented me from functioning.

I knew he'd gone to the play. He'd deliberately avoided me. He was sulking because I wouldn't give him answers. He would have taken her. Catherine Samantha Doyle, I consulted my watch, would currently be climbing into bed to read while he would be in a taxi on his way here.

He'd prefer to go and hide away from me in Sarah's house but she'd called time on their romance. Something, I believed, he thought was my fault. He'd not said it outright; but there was something about the way he'd presented himself after they'd split made me feel like he was holding his tongue.

Anger boiled inside of me. If he couldn't make it work with his beauty; would he move onto mine? That would defeat the object cutting her out of my life. I'd commanded him to stay away from her when he'd told me that he'd not had any response to his efforts to contact her. Foolish man had given his brotherly heart to her.

I heard the door slam and I contemplated pretending to be asleep but dismissed it and the noise would have awoken a hibernating badger. I could hear him bolting up the stairs as quickly as his leg would allow. He flung the door open; his face was red and blotchy with fury.

'Play not so good then?' I questioned him.

'You are the most self-centred, selfish arse I've ever met.'

'Well I do believe the earth revolves around me.' I teased despite every sense I owned told me not to push him.

'She's broken Sherlock.' John paced the floor in front of me. At least his disposal of kinetic energy didn't involve harming me.

'She was broken before I met her.' I flared.

'Damn you! You've not even given her a reason. She can't have closure.'

'Nothing was opened for me to close-' I began.

'STOP IT! You can't tell me you didn't notice how you were with her? You haven't seen her; you broke her heart!' I could tell he was fighting the urge to punch me. 'She's a mess.'

'Well you going and showing your face isn't going to help matters is it? I'm not capable of what she's asking of me-'

'Don't you dare? One; she never ASKED you for anything. Two; you can't fool me. I saw how you cared for her; you glowed! Everything was fine; you asked me to buy those tickets for the play. You went into that bedroom and something changed-' He gained a deer in headlights expression. '-Did you sleep with her?' He continued as if he'd figured it out. 'I never had you pegged as a typical-' I stopped him there.

'I didn't sleep with her.' I inisisted.

'Then what is it? Because right now, all I can tell is that you're a dick. You're generic, uninspiring caveman.'

'It's safer if you don't know,' I foolishly thought that would end the conversation. 'I asked you to leave her alone. Can you please respect that?'

'No. She's in pain; we're friends. I'm not going to stop seeing her. Sorry if that ruins your plan of being a martyr!'

'Please!' I begged.

'Not unless you tell me why?'

'It's not your concern John. She's not yours-'My temper spiked and I stood to confront him.

'She's not yours anymore Holmes. You're made sure of that.' He baited me. 'You've left that woman to stew in her own pain and I can't see a valid reason. I knew you could be a cruel man, but why didn't you just leave her be in the first place-'

'Her parents were killed by Moriarty.' I roared, pushing away the bile of pain that I'd been sitting on since she uttered her story. 'Can you imagine the power, how much delight he'd take if he knew I cared for his first victim?' I stumbled back to the sofa as the reality of the situation hit me; John fell to the chair like a domino. He made me recount everything from that night. In return he informed me that he was pretty certain she didn't remember her revelation.

Once we were both exhausted from the overwhelming information John decided to get my back up once more: 'Did you never think that it was the universes way of telling you to protect her?'

'The universe doesn't talk John.' I responded, irritated.

'You know what I mean. What makes you think she's any safer without you? She's helping you on a book about Moriarty-'

'It's not about-'

'Sherlock, she's the first victim and you're his obsession; this book was always going to be about Moriarty.' John argued and he did make sense. I'd unwittingly picked the one person that could not bleach him from the pages of my story.

'I need to apologise?'

'Mate, you need to grovel.' He laughed.

'That doesn't sound very enjoyable.' I commented.

'It's not!' He smiled. I think he took pleasure in the thought. 'Heard anything more about man of the hour?'

'Disappeared.'

'Impossible. Where was he last sighted?'

'Russia, closing a deal with a diplomat.'

'You'll get him Sherlock.' John sunk back into the chair. 'You going to take a bath any time soon? My nose is really starting to miss your cat-like love of hygiene!' I snared in his direction. 'You might want to grovel to Mrs Hudson, you've been rotten to her.' He explained.

'Good night John.' I avoided, closing my eyes. He was right, I had been awful and I would make it up to her. But for now, I wanted to fall into the deepest sleep I'd experienced in weeks.

XXXXXX

'Are you going to see her today?' John asked me through a mouthful of toast as I appeared from the bathroom. He sounded like an impatient child. I sat down on the sofa, rubbing my hair roughly with a towel. He appeared in front of me, looking expectantly when I'd failed to respond.

'Yes.' I groaned my head still muggy from sleep. 'I have a meeting with Lestrade to relay the information I received from Mycroft.' It was rather tiresome but the two men hated each other and could not act like professionals; embarrassing really.

'Good good.' He wasn't really listening as he headed into the bathroom. I shouted out, the toothbrush in his mouth muffling his words: 'There's flowers on the table-'

'I'm not taking flowers.' I climbed over the table to move to the door of the bathroom 'She'll she right through it. It's not me-' John groaned.

'It's not any man. Just do it- it'll ease you in.' I still felt sceptical but I agreed I would. 'And I think you should ask her about living here. Good luck.'

At the time I didn't realise it, but I needed more than luck. Flowered clutched in my hand I stepped into the tea shop and she took my breath away.

For the first time ever to my eyes, she was out of her seat talking to one of the employees. She laughed; a flirty lift to her voice as he offered to get her a piece of cake from the fridge. My heart was drowning. I made to walk out when her eyes locked with mine, turning me to stone. My soul fractured at her piercing gaze.


	13. That Green Gentleman

_**Hello all... I'm updating so early again because 1. I'm off to Starbuck for my last day of writing and 2. This chapter has quite a cheeky cliff hanger and I don't know if I should leave it there for a week or update again today.**_

_**Review and let me know...**_

_Chapter Thirteen: That Green Gentleman (Things Have Changed)_

We sat in silence; a standoff. Whoever broke first would come off worse and I knew it wouldn't be me. My blood boiled at the sight of him and I was ready to let rip.

'Who's he?' He asked sullenly; Jealous? I'd find it cute if he had any right to the ownership of that emotion. I simply stared, incredulous at his implication.

'Six weeks; I don't hear from you. Six whole weeks and your first words to me are 'Who's he?' Are you kidding me?' I was forcing my voice to be calm; it was draining. 'How about; none of your business Mr Holmes?'

'His name tag said Charlie.'

'Then why'd you ask?' I shouted, my inner anger showing through.

'I asked 'Who's he?' Who is he to you?'

'My husband.' I challenged him with a bite to my voice.

'Don't be infantile.' He droned deeply, I'd irritated him. I took some comfort in that.

'Well don't ask stupid questions that you can deduce for yourself. Hurting you is not my style!' I snapped. He sat, still waiting for an explanation about Charlie. 'I'd judge, that with him being behind the counter, holding a tea pot and encouraging the exchange of money for caffeinated drinks that he is indeed,' I paused for effect 'An employee. He offered to fulfil the position you left' I watched his brow crinkle and I was sure he was about to retort that he did not work there. 'Sherlock, you left me without anyone to talk to. You took me out of my comfort zone and left me needing social contact and someone to talk to. He's no one.' I hung my poker face; truth was, before he arrived I was going to allow Charlie to ask me out again.

We slipped into another bout of silence. It irritated me that he'd taken so much comfort from my declaration that Charlie was no one. I wanted to take it back. Then I noticed what was on his lap.

'What the hell are those?' I pointed, revolted. He offered them to me like a six year old tool a present to their mother. I refused and he placed them down hurt. 'These aren't you. You've been coached by John haven't you? Sherlock, you clearly don't know who I am because I'm not asking you to be something you're not. The Sherlock I know would bring me a pickled brain in a jar,'

'I did think about that.' He muttered.

'Where have you been?' I asked hotly.

'Busy.' He replied nonchalant. I sat forward on my seat and prepared myself for the directed rage.

'I asked where have you been, not the status of your schedule; which is also a load of sodding bollocks. You were always busy and had time for your ego trips. Now, I'll ask you again: where. Have. You. Been? Because unless you've been out of this country the entire time, held hostage because of your inexplicable inability to be normal-'

'Normal's boring.'

'I haven't finished. Normal isn't boring all the time. Sherlock, we have rules within society for a reason; for once in your god damn life will you please conform.' He'd cut me off and I had lost my rant.

'I'm sorry-'

'I'm afraid I don't think you understand the meaning of the word and I don't think you ever will.' I sighed, my heart heavy, 'Now, I'm sure you have a completely rational reason for your irrational behaviour and it's quite clear you're not going to enlighten me any time soon. I'm going to ask you this only once, and if you have any respect for me; you'll not return until you are prepared to share.' He looked utterly wounded. 'Please leave!' My heart urged me to forgive; I violently told my heart to bugger off.

'If you need me...' He tentatively began.

'I won't.' I spat sharply. He stepped away from his chair. I couldn't let him leave without giving him any hope, 'until you tell me what you're hiding. I can't trust you. I'm sorry.'

'You said you never wanted information from me that wasn't freely given Sam. I hope you respect me for that.'

He left and I was back to step one. I left the full cup of tea where it stood and went back to my flat. There, under the covers, I could cry. If no one was there to see it, I could deny it ever happened.

* * *

><p>Two days passed. I'd hoped that he'd see sense or John at least would have spoken to him and convinced him to have another shot at wearing me down. I couldn't bring myself to write while I was so emotionally compromised so I chose to delve into other people's work instead.<p>

I was curled up in the comfy seat, music blaring, when I felt a figure pass my left and sit down. I removed my headphones, but I still refused to look at him. I wanted to finish this chapter, and I only had a few sentences left.

'Hello Sherlock.' I smiled into my book, elated that he's come. I was still going to give him a hard time, which also included my blasé approach to my welcome. 'What took you so long?' said as I finished the last sentence.

'Sorry to disappoint Catherine.' His voice brought back images of the discovery of my parents' bodies. I felt like an ice cube had been placed directly into my stomach whole; my stomach was churning and twisting to destroy the phantom intruder. I looked to the origin of the voice, expecting to turn to stone upon meeting his face.

He had no soul. That was all I could say with certainty. His eyes were dead. I knew I had to keep my composure even though I wanted to run. All I could see in my mind's eye was my mother, in her favourite summer dress, pooled in her own congealed blood.

'Catherine. Dear Catherine. Sweet Catherine.' I didn't want to correct him and tell him I went by Sam now. The reason why I'd changed in the first place was because the memory of him calling out my name plagued my dreams; it was mutilating, ripping at my happiness with his chilling pronunciation. 'How've you been?' He asked light heartedly.

'Just peachy.' I decided sentences that were as short as possible were the way to go.

'Not going to ask me how I am? I thought your father taught you better manners than that?' I bit the inside of my mouth to stop me rising to his bait; I tasted blood before I relaxed my jaw.

'How are you?' I asked through gritted teeth.

'Say my name-' He smiled wickedly, '-bitch.' When I failed to comply he lost some of his composure. 'Say my name bitch!' he growled.

'Moriarty, how've you been? I've not heard from you since you murdered my parent's and emptied their bank accounts?' I inwardly kicked myself. I'd said too much. I'd shown my anger and it amused him.

'Not great,' He sank back into the chair and swung one leg over the other. 'You see I've been playing a little game. It was going well-'

'- until you realised you'd bitten off more than you could chew with a genius like Sherlock.'

'I'm a genius too.' He roared. 'He just didn't play by the rules. And he's gone against them yet again by playing around with you-'He hissed.

'He's not worked it out yet- don't punish him for that. He doesn't know who I am. He doesn't know I'm connected, he just thinks I'm plain-' I slipped, I went to say Sam.

'Yes, I must admit; clever move Sam. Changing your name so subtly; I'm quite flattered that I got under your skin.' He cheered. 'But he's ruined my plan for you. I thought I'd separated you from the world Repunzel. You were never meant to reappear, let alone on the arm of SHERLOCK.' He was losing his composure again.

'Sorry to disappoint Moriarty.' I'd slipped again; I'd been too bold. He'd slipped off his chair and was on top of me before I could brace myself. His hands penned me in while his head came against mine and he hissed:

'You will be sorry.' His hot breath landed on my cheek. 'Bless, you've not even cut your hair since they died have you? You know you don't live in a fairytale don't you? You won't wake up and discover it was all a bad dream. Daddy's dead princess and Sherlock won't be your champion. But, if you're lucky and you wish really, really hard... I might just be convinced to send you to join them.' With that he was gone.

I'd only just made it to the bathroom of the tea shop before I threw up from fear. I locked the toilet door the first chance I got. Hyperventilating I picked my phone out of my pocket and found his number in the contacts and waited for it to ring.


	14. The Piano Knows Something I Don't Know

_**Here you go guys... the last chapter for a week. I'll update Saturday afternoon/ Sunday morning depending on plans and what not. I'm hoping to find time to write a few more chapters through the week... I've sort have come to a mini conclusion at the moment; but it ain't over yet.**_

_**I think I'm looking at 35- 40 chapters in the end. :D**_

_**Enjoy and have a wonderful week...**_

_Chapter Fourteen: The Piano Knows Something I Don't Know_

'What do you want for tea?' John was being annoyingly clingy since my return from my disastrous trip to the tea shop and my unsuccessful attempt at reconciling with Sam.

'Peace and quiet,' I answered from my position, laid out on the couch; eyes closed to the world. 'But as that seems impossible a bottle of merlot will have to make do.'

'Why don't you go back, talk to her?' I inwardly groaned; he was a broken record. I'd suggested that he put his thoughts into fixing his own relationship when he'd piped up last night and he went to bed early. I somehow imagined that it would lose its impact if I used it again tonight.

'Because I'm not ready to talk to her about Moriarty and she-'

'I know what she said.' John interrupted. 'But can't you just tell her that you will, but just not yet. Girls like that-'

'Since when has Sam been a cardboard cut out? No, she said if I respected her I was to stay away.'

'Why, now of all times, do you learn the meaning of respect?' John moaned, I heard him plonk the bottle of wine and a glass on the table.

'Maybe, she's the first person who's been worthy of my respect.' I snapped. It wasn't true, I respected John an awful lot, but he was annoying me so I said it for effect. He just ignored it and continued talking; he'd sat down in his seat.

'I don't get it.' You often don't, I thought to myself. 'She told you. She wants you to know; she just can't remember that she told you. Surely it'd be better to do it now before Moriarty forces you both to confront it. He's got eyes everywhere; he'll make it out to be a betrayal on your part.'

'I know! I just-' I hissed. I didn't want him to know. I didn't want to admit it. I didn't want him to think less of me.

'You're embarrassed you didn't figure it out for yourself?' John laughed and I looked him in the eyes and nodded. 'I somehow think you're the only one that's going to care about-' He stopped mid sentence to retrieve his ringing phone from the table. His face flushed and froze as he saw the name on the screen. I saw him contemplate moving into another room but decided it was better to stay where he was. 'Hello aunty.' It came out strangled and force. He was lying, which could only mean it was Sam. '-wait, wait, wait. Slow down.'

He was on his feet now. I followed suit and tried t place my ear next to his but he slapped me away and moved to the other side of the room.

'What, when?' He was silent on his end. I could hear a voice but couldn't make out words. '-I'll come straight over, where are you?' He began collecting his things together. I felt ill when he checked the condition of his gun before concealing it. 'Yes, he's here.' He threw me an angry look. '- No I won't bring him. Stay where you are.'

Before I'd even had chance to compose my thoughts his fist connected with my jaw and I landed on the floor in a crumpled heap.

'Moriarty?' I questioned from the floor. John was rubbing his knuckles.

'Moriarty.' John replied, storming out. He'd got halfway down the stairs before returning. He couldn't say what he wanted to. Instead he threw up his hands in fury, turned on his heels and left without another word.

I pulled myself up and headed straight for the bathroom in search of my nicotine patches. I mused that even if I covered every inch of my skin I would still not get the relief I needed. I opened the cabinet and pulled out the box; empty. I sighed in frustration.

What did I know? She was alive; it was her on the phone. She was out of the company of Moriarty; John was off to collect her. She was scared and full of adrenalin; John had to tell her to slow down because she was talking too fast. She could still be in danger; John had prepped his gun and he'd forgotten to take his cane.

That final thought brought me to the conclusion that I needed more than nicotine. I carefully lifted the cabinet off the wall; setting it down on the tiled floor. I eased one of the bricks out of its position in the wall and retrieved my tin. I put everything back in order and took myself back to my sofa.

I loaded the syringe and prepared my arm and medicated myself. Morphine raced through my blood as I removed the strap that had pumped up my vein. I would have to abuse Molly's affections for me soon as my supply was running low.

The pain I felt was unlike anything I'd ever experienced and I was unsure if it would even work. I was hoping that the fear that had crept into my soul would soon be replaced with euphoria; or at the very least unconsciousness.

If it didn't have the desired affect I would be in my own personal hell until John returned with either Sam in tow or news that she was safe. I entertained the highly unlikely thought that he might bring her right back here and give me an opportunity to comfort her to ease my guilt. Guilt was such a crippling emotion, I thought as I curled into the foetal position on the sofa.

Moriarty is in the country. How had that not been acknowledged by my brain before now? I felt the drug take effect as my heart rate quickened. I found my phone and text both Mycroft and Lestrade the same message:

**Moriarty has been seen in London. SH**

A moment later my phone rang.

'I know because he's gotten to Sam.' I answered his question before he'd asked it.

'Now that's unfortunate.' My brother actually sounded sincere. I reasoned with myself that it could have been the morphine altering the tone of his voice. 'Is she safe? Is she relatively unharmed?'

'I don't know brother.' I whispered into the phone; all inhibitions gone. 'She doesn't want to see me. She called for John after it happened.'

'So you worked it out?' He asked me. Of course he would have known he always was more insightful than me; He just chose a different path.

'She told me.' I admitted shamefully.

'You were always too close to see it.' He reassured me. 'I tried to get you both to walk away before you found out. You can't abandon her now. He has orchestrated for her entire life and I can't imagine he's too happy that you've brought her back into play.'

'But why? Why was her family targeted?' I was thinking out loud more than anything.

'That, I can't tell you. I can only guess. Very little is known about James when he was starting out. Perhaps he was affected by some of the policies put in place by her father. Whatever it was; he wanted her cut off from society; Isolated.' I took in his words of wisdom. If Mycroft didn't know why; the motivation would die with Moriarty. 'Sleep off the morphine Sherlock; she's going to need you in the morning.'

'Will you help? Will you find out what-'

'-you don't even have to ask.' Mycroft cut me off. 'Sleep well little brother.'

The line went dead.


	15. Ready to Go Get Me Out of My Mind

_**Hey guys, a mid week treat for you as I've managed to have a night off from marking and the likes.**_

_**I hope you enjoy this chapter.**_

_Chapter Fifteen: Ready to Go (Get Me Out of My Mind)_

I was back at the pool watching everything play without sound. Out of nowhere Sam appeared. She didn't speak; she just pieced me with her bright, wide eyes.

I knew I was dreaming, but I would indulge. I was not often I was aware of my dreams. As suddenly as she appeared, she was covered in red targets. She looked like a ruby encrusted statue. I took a step towards her and reached out my hand...

The door opened and closed with a smash; jolting me awake.

'Do you ever answer your phone?' Lestrade stood over me. My first glance was to my tin of morphine; Lestrade knew I dabbled but I also knew not to flaunt the fact. It was gone from the table; John was home and will have moved it. My second glance was to my phone; ten missed calls and three text messages over the space of six hours. 'Why send me a text like that to only go and ignore me?' Any other person would be intimidated by him.

'I passed out.' I explained. 'There was nothing to be done last night.' I raked my hand through my hair. 'I can only presume that Moriarty-'

'Presume? You've given me a sleepless night on a presumption?' Lestrade was clearly angry.

'I'll have more for you when I talk to John. Sam was-'

'What's she got to do with it?' He asked and I proceeded to inform Lestrade about Sam's connection with Moriarty.

'You know I'll want to question her right?' He made it sound like a question just to be polite.

'Soon as she's talking to me, I'll get her to you.' I agreed. Without another word Lestrade left. I pulled out my phone again to check for other messages; a sign that Sam was unharmed.

'Cup of tea?' John appeared in the doorway; his hair was dishevelled but he was still dressed in yesterday's clothes.

'Are you going to tell me?' I asked; bracing myself for the worst.

'I'm not even awake yet! I've only had an hours sleep.' He looked at me coldly; he was mad that I didn't spent the evening crawling the walls like a caged animal. What he didn't know was I had; it just happened in the safety of my mind.

'I was in pain John.'

'No you were sulking because it wasn't-'

'I WAS SCARED!' I shouted, doubling up in pain. John's anger seemed to dissolve. I looked to the floor. 'Be angry with me all you want. Stop talking to me if you wish; but do it after you've told me everything.' _Don't make me beg; our dynamic will change if you do._

'Ok, he softened, sitting on the coffee table before me. _Oh God!_

'Did he hurt her?' I asked, looking into his eyes.

'No. Well, not in the physical sense. He just spoke to her; she thought it was you at first.' _Damn, she had her back to the door; head in a book. _She'd thought I'd arrived to apologise and tell her why I'd been avoiding her.

'Where is she now?'

'I took her to Sarah. I'm sorry I didn't know what else to do.' I sensed he thought I'd disapprove at this.

'No, that's probably for the best. You did good John.' I allowed my heart a little rest before continuing. 'Can I see her John?'

'This afternoon.' He surprised me by nodding. 'We had to sedate her in the end.' He was lost in thought. 'I'd seen some awful things in war; the damage a bullet can do. But psychological warfare- Sherlock, it's under the skin. I don't know how to treat that.'

'And that's why you go see another doctor over yours.' I reasoned with him. 'She'll be ok John. I have an acquaintance who owes me a favour.'

'And what of Moriarty?' John asked me.

'Mycroft's looking into it. There will be some consequence for me. I accidently brought her back into focus.'

'You saved her from the tower.' John mused, his eyes loosing focus as he was recollecting something.

'What?' I asked. I'd completely missed something.

'The tower of isolation; Rapunzel!' This did not make it any clearer for me. 'It's a fairytale. A young princess was taken by the witch because the King and Queen offended her. Gothel, the witch, locked Rapunzel up in a tower to keep her away from society. Only, a young prince discovers her. Depending on the version you read the ending varied; but they lived happily ever after.' I made connections with the story and Sam. 'He called her Rapunzel; he did it on purpose.'

'That might be so. But he studied her before hand... he must have known that she would isolate herself. Her tower has a staircase remember.'

'But you were the only one to see her Sherlock.' We both smiled. 'Don't you think it's weird; of all the people you could have go to-'

'I think about that every day. I feel like I've signed her death sentence.' I pulled on my aching neck.

'No, you brought her back to life.' John got up and walked away. But not before he gave my heart hope by shouting back 'Her words Sherlock.'

* * *

><p>Sarah's flat was inviting; I would have normally spent time looking at the art works, book and music collections to gain a further insight into John's girlfriend's home. Yes, I was sure they were back together again; the key to her flat had rejoined his own.<p>

Sam was found in the bedroom; the only chair pushed up to the window. Her bare feet were resting on the window sill. She was lost in her own world; her eyes red and blotchy. She clutched a mug in her hand so tightly I wondered if it would break.

John signalled to me that he would give me some room. I heard him fill up the kettle as I stepped in and closed off the room. She didn't startle; she had known I was there.

'You've cut your hair,' I commented taking in her short, slightly uneven, bob. I removed my outer clothes and threw them onto the neatly made bed.

'I took the kitchen scissors to it last night.' She reached for the hair that was no longer there. I perched on the sill beside her feet; facing her. 'He called me Rapunzel.' She sniffed.

'He knows he's gotten to you when you do things like that.' I wanted to put a reassuring hand on her leg but I knew it was too soon.

'I know. I was being irrational.'

'It's beautiful.' I couldn't help it. I reached out to brush it back behind her ear; she recoiled at my touch. I sat back down.

'He's the reason you left.' Not a question but a statement. She briefly looked me in the eyes, enough time for me to nod. 'That wasn't very fair of you.'

'I was trying to protect you. I barely escaped with my life intact.'

'But,' She fumbled with the corner of the pillow; refusing to make eye contact. 'Oh, never mind.'

'What?' I asked. 'You can tell me.'

'I've missed you.' She said, bringing her eyes up to meet mine. I didn't want to push my luck so I fought my urge to pull her into a hug and insist I'd missed her too; so much so I thought my soul was rejecting me. I wondered what it would be like to kiss her. Such a complex thought; I'd never wanted or needed a kiss before. I'd kissed people out of necessity, but never out of passion.

'I'm still angry with you.' She broke my train of thought. 'I don't know if I can forgive you. I know you've probably not had any experience with woman so I'll give you a heads up. One day, you'll think we're fine. The next you might forget to put turnip on my sandwich and you'll be the guy that abandoned me.'

'You like turnips on your –'

'No, I was trying to show you how irrational I could be- Oh, just ask John when you get home.' She gave me a warm smile.

'I deserve whatever punishment-' I insisted, her smile etching itself onto my soul. I wanted to see that smile more; I want to be the reason for that smile.

'- I have a feeling it was just as hard on you. I won't be doing it to punish you. It's just that I'm a woman, and well it's how we react to being rejected.' That hurt; I'd never felt rejection myself but I knew it was a powerful emotion. Something people don't always recover from. We sat in silence for a while. I studied her eyes; they seemed to be magnified.

'Can I make a request?' I asked, she nodded but her gaze remained fixed on the street below. 'There's a room at Baker Street. I think it would be best if-' I was trying to be logical. 'I want you there.'

'Let me think about it.' She answered before slipping into her own thoughts once again. After a moment her eyes began to tear. I didn't think, I just pulled her out of the chair and into my arms; she did not protest.

'He won't kill you Sam,' my lips brushed her hair. 'I won't let him.'

'That isn't what scares me.' She pulled out of my embrace slightly so she could look up to me. 'Death doesn't scare me.' She was right; there was no fear in her eyes. 'I know he's going to keep me alive and kill everyone I love first.' She didn't just mean me; she meant everyone who lived at Baker Street. Possibly Sarah too. I couldn't help but wanting it to be a declaration. Instead, I knew it was just the reason for her reservation. 'I'll more than likely exchange one prison for another.'

I placed my hand on her chin and she leaned upwards, her tear drowned eyes sparkled.

'I promise I won't die on you.' I leaned in with the intention of kissing her. I could practically feel her lips on mine when John had knocked on the door and asked if we wanted tea. I mentally cursed him as we detangled our limbs without another word; the moment well and truly lost.


	16. It's True Love

_**This chapter was inspired by C'estMoiLiz who sparked a little idea with her review that Sarah is an unexplored character. Well here you go; some Sam and Sarah interaction.**_

_Chapter Sixteen: It's True Love_

Sherlock and John refused to leave until Sarah returned. I'd ushered Sherlock out so that we could give them time to themselves. Sherlock sulked and moaned. I half expected that it was due to our disturbed, utterly failed, attempt at a kiss. Still I explained to him that it was his own fault that they had broken up in the first place.

It irritated me that he agreed with me without actually believing it himself. Part of me had hope that our time out of the flat would result in another attempt at our first kiss. I was sorely mistaken; by the time John appeared in the hallway my blood was boiling so much that I slammed the door on the flat shut without so much as a goodbye.

'Good parting?' Sarah asked; my response was to scream. 'I've brought things to make tea. You're iron is a little low; I got the results to your blood test back just before I left the surgery. You've also managed to become a bag of bones in the last month or so.' She intoned taking in my unusually petite frame. She was right, my clothes hung unflatteringly loose from my shoulders. 'So, I'm making famous sun-dried tomato risotto, and-' she flung a box of chocolates at me. '-doctor's orders.'

She placed her phone on the docking station in the kitchen. Beautifully constructed instrumental music danced out of the speakers and she busied herself with chopping, weighing and stirring.

'Why did you test my blood?' I asked, hypnotised by her cooking from my perch on the couch. I'd not sat and watched anyone cook since mom; it was comforting.

'John thought you'd been poisoned; he'd never seen you so frantic,' She explained.

'Did it-' I began, extremely worried about the results.

'It was negative. I knew it was going to; I just wanted to give John some peace of mind. I shouldn't have left him with you when I went to get the sedative but- well it's done now.' Her voice was strained and I just couldn't quite put my finger on what it was.

'You're not threatened by me are you?' I asked after moments of strained silence. It had been years since I'd experienced female company but I still remembered the insecurity, jealousy and betrayal.

'No, no, no. I just mean that he doesn't know how to react to traumatised women. But we did talk about your relationship with him when you went home. I'd had a moment of doubt; but he put me straight.'

'I'm Luke, you're Han!' I said with a smile.

'Did he tell you?' I shook my head; I just knew. 'That needed explaining to me. I wish I'd just smiled and nodded; he made me watch the whole saga. First in the order they were made then in episode order. He wanted me to tell him which way was better; how the hell was I to know?' She stirred the risotto once more. 'I was, for the briefest of moments, glad when Sherlock cam home.'

'You don't like him very much do you?' I asked; I wasn't offended. Hell, right this second I wondered why my heart beat so fast for him. Then my mind wandered further to that kiss we'd almost had. The heat between us; I could feel his heart hammering under my hand that I'd somehow placed on his chest. I should have kissed him; John had only knocked on the door. It was me who pulled away. I rubbed away the goosebumps that had formed at the memory.

'I just feel like I'm competing for John's attention at times.' She answered, concentrating on the risotto.

'John doesn't mean to put you in that position. Their friendship means a lot to him; one that was initially formed because Sherlock treated him like an equal and saw past the disability. He loves you Sarah.' I insisted. 'John's just worried what might happen to Sherlock if he left; the power has shifted and Sherlock's now the one in need of a crutch.'

'Is that why he doesn't like me? Because he thinks I'm taking John away?'

'You're boring.' I explained, trying to mimic his tone. It clearly didn't work because she looked offended. 'Sarah, I mean you're normal. It's actually a compliment; there's no puzzle with you. No complication.'

'He seems more approachable when he's with you.' She smiled at me.

'Because he knows he's not alone. He likes his own company, but the one thing he fears is dying alone.' I explained; I'd worked it out a while back but knew I'd never be able to tell him.

'But he has you?'

'But he has me.' I smiled.

'So what will happen between the two of you?' She left the food to look at me. I thought about the almost kiss; it was full of potential. His scent lingered on me. I didn't want to stop at a kiss, but I had no idea of what he saw for us.

'I have no idea. I don't even know what I want because I've spent so much time alone. I may want children, I may want the gown, I may want the ideal life; and I don't think Sherlock can provide any of that.'

'Are you sure he can't?' She asked decanting some of the wine for the risotto into a glass, she offered me some but I refused.

'I don't think about it; otherwise that 'may' disappears and I'm in big trouble.'

'Well I think he may surprise you! And you'd have gorgeous children.' She laughed. I wanted to argue that I didn't know if he felt the same; but I could not say that now that I'd felt his body respond to me. I had a fleeting urge to get my coat and run to Baker Street right this second.

'I think burying my head in the sand is the best way forward.'

We were startled by a knock on the door. Sarah was not expecting anyone so, with a frying pan in hand, I padded to the door. I tentatively peered out of the peep hole. My body relaxed as I recognised the figure presented in the glass orb; I opened the door.

'Mr Holmes.' I greeted sourly.

'Miss Doyle, Miss Telford.' He stepped in without invite. 'The two beauties that will forever be kept on the self.' I watched him take in the room; size it up and place a label on Sarah. I hated him for that.

'What do you want Mycroft?' I asked my body going rigid again as I remembered who he was.

'A word,' He said pointedly to the point of being rude. Sarah excused herself and went to the bedroom; the door closed with a snap.

'That was rude!' I told him, walking to the stove to stir the contents of the pan. My stomach growled and the smell hit my nose.

'Did you expect anything less from me?' He retorted, standing to attention. 'Now that you and Sherlock know where each of you stand-'

'Why didn't you tell me that you already knew who I was? I would have walked away if you'd just taken two seconds to explain' I stabbed the congealed rice violently.

'You didn't know then.' He answered vaguely.

'Of course I did, I've always known.' That we were both connected to Moriarty; of course I did.

'That you love him?'

'Yes!' I shouted. It wasn't what I meant but it was still the truth. Deep down I had always known. 'Yes Mycroft; I love your brother. But you can't possibly think about using that to your advantage in one of your games because that word will never belong in our vocabulary.'

'Because he is incapable?' He teased.

'Because we do not need to declare something we both already know.' He seemed impressed by my answer. 'What is it Mycroft? Why are you here?'

'You were meant to have a fortune in inheritance-' He began and my blood began to boil.

'Thank you for reminding me of why I can't afford to move from the shithole I live in! Are you going to tell me that it was Moriarty that cloned the family accounts and stole the money? You know, just in case I'd not worked that out either?'

'It's all gone. Mycroft has run his accounts dry. It is believed that he is going to perform a heist here in London next month.' He watched to see if I was following. 'Elizabeth Taylor's jewels are completing their worldwide tour. He plans to steal at least a million pounds worth.'

'Opening night?' I mused to myself; a plan already formulating in my head.

'You know why I'm telling you this don't you?' Mycroft questioned.

'Yes.' I answered simply.


	17. I Have Friends In Holy Spaces

_Chapter Seventeen: I Have Friends in Holy Spaces_

In the last week things with Sherlock had gone from bad to worse. We'd met the next day and while we were walking around the park I'd agreed to move in; but I insisted that I had to give at least a month's notice for my flat. It was partly because I liked my own space; yes I was moving to the flat bellow but we both knew that I'd spend most of my time upstairs with them.

Somewhere between the pond and the adventure park, our hands met. He'd not worn his leather gloves like he usually did. My hands interlaced with his; we walked for half an hour in silence. It was nice and I was half tempted to move in that day.

But then he dropped the bombshell that caused me to walk away and ignore his calls for the last seven days.

I was currently sat in a therapist's office staring right through the man that was in my direct eye line. Sherlock had informed me that he'd booked this appointment for me. I was so unbelievably angry with him.

I was not interested in talking about my feelings. I'd been down this road before; last time resulting in hospitalisation. 'Why aren't you sleeping?' they asked and I'd give some sarcastic lie. I knew exactly why I wasn't sleeping; I'd walked into find my parent's dead bodies in their living room, I'd cleaned their train tissue and skull fragments off the walls until my hands were raw and finally Moriarty had acted in such a way that put my father in a bad light and made it look like I'd made him up. What was talking about it going to do when no one believed you?

The nightmares I'd experienced back then were back; something I think Sherlock must have predicted because he'd organised this ten week programme. This was week one and the doctor had quickly discovered I wasn't going to be talking any time soon.

'Sam, while I get paid regardless, I'm not sure it's the best use of your time.'

'Gives me time to balance my finances.' I tapped my head. 'Bit like church.' I mused.

'Do you go to church Miss Doyle?'

'Nice try!' I eyed him suspiciously and shut my mouth. He tried a different approach and asked if I wanted to play a game of cards.

'Isn't that what you do to children to make it feel like they're not in therapy?' It was this question that changed everything. It changed the mood, tone and eventually the progress of the sessions.

His body concaved and he let out a frustrated yelp.

'I'm bored Sam,' He moaned unprofessionally. 'I'm only doing this as a favour to Sherlock. If I'd known you were just as uncooperative and as unyielding as him I would have said no.' He walked away and he looked out of the window. I never found out if this was meant purely as a trigger or not; but his comparison of Sherlock and myself had me talking; a little any way.

'Do you have scrabble? I asked.

XX

'Thank you for meeting me outside.' I said to Mycroft as I pulled up to the police building.

'I take it you've yet to tell him about you attending this meeting?' He asked with his crooked smile. So similar yet so different from Sherlock; I didn't trust this guy before me. He'd throw me to the lions if it would be of benefit to him.

'Your brother has put me into therapy; I am not speaking to him.' I climbed the steps into the building. 'He really enjoys pushing people away by annoying the hell out of them doesn't he?'

Mycroft ignored me and instead approached the receptionist and informed her that Lestrade was expecting us.

'How did it go today?' He asked, pressing the call button to the lift we had been directed to.

'I learnt a new word.' I answered simply and we rode the lift in silence. If I was not going to discuss this with Sherlock, I certainly wasn't going to divulge anything to this snake.

My stomach began to bubble as we approached the conference room. There would be severe consequences for this alliance; he would see it as a betrayal. As the door was opened, loud voices assaulted my ears only to be silenced upon my arrival.

'Who's this?' The only other woman in the room asked with a bitter tone. She stood up straight like a cat would when it saw another encroaching on its territory. I instantly disliked her and wanted to connect my knuckles with her jaw.

'Sam?' Sherlock sat up from his slouch; utter confusion etched on his ace. Almost as instantly it turned to fury when he saw Mycroft follow me in.

'You two didn't tell him?' Lestrade questioned while he stood at the head of the table. He clutched his head when I shook mine. I reached out to offer my hand, Lestrade reluctantly took it; I'd made a bad first impression.

'Tell me what?' Sherlock asked sharply as I took a seat as far away from him as possible.

'She's my guest Sherlock. I suggest that you have your wounded sulk later as we have more pressing matters to attend to, and I have a meeting with the Prime Minister's aide at three.' Mycroft insisted taking a seat beside me. I saw Sherlock prickle at this new arrangement.

'So, Moriarty is running out of money and we believe that the latest exhibition in Christies is his focus.' The woman explained and Mycroft informed me with a whisper that her name was Donovan. Sherlock glared at us further.

'So you plan to apprehend him there?' Sherlock asked.

'No exactly-' Lestrade began.

'-What do you mean, not exactly?' Donovan snapped. I took a little joy in knowing she had no idea about the plan that was in place either.

'We've suggested that we place a tracker on a replica,' Mycroft explained 'he's more than likely going to exchange the pieces for fakes during the opening.'

'It's Elizabeth Taylor's collection. There are more than fifty pieces in the collection. How would we know which one he's definitely going to target? Donovan shot the idea down.

'Yes there is over fifty pieces but there is one necklace in that collection that is worth more than the rest of the collection combined.' I spoke up, meeting her glary gaze. I wasn't going to blink first; I was waiting for her response when someone else spoke and diverted my attention.

'So we replicate that one, bug it and then what?' Sherlock questioned. 'Wouldn't he be more accessible at the presentation?'

'You really think he's going to be there personally?' Mycroft mocked before whispering to me that he'd never seen him so distracted or furious.

'So the tracker will lead to him?' Donovan asked, taking notes on her pad.

'In theory,' Sherlock mused. 'But you can't make a good enough replica in two days.'

'Does it have to be perfect?' Donovan insisted.

'Yes it does.' I snapped; Moriarty wasn't an idiot and he certainly wouldn't send in a novice to collect the jewels.

'And this is where Miss Doyle comes in.' Mycroft explained proudly. Sherlock looked to me for an explanation.

'I was obsessed with Cleopatra as a child. For my 16th birthday my father commissioned a replica of the necklace she was bought just after the making of the film. It cost £10,000; a fraction of the cost of the original but it'll be better than anything than you could provide in that time.' I explain and Sherlock looks horrified; he's worked it out. Of course Mycroft understood as well but he didn't care. I just hope he doesn't voice his opinion. I turned to Lestrade 'You can use it on one condition; I go in and make the switch.'

'No chance. Thanks; but we'll make do with our own.' Donovan laughed at me and I felt a heat rise to my cheeks.

'Lestrade, How long would it take for you to commission a convincing replica?' Mycroft asked.

'At least two months; if not longer.' Lestrade answered. 'We also don't have that kind of budget; Donovan we need her.' This caused a private argument in the corner of the room.

Mycroft leaned into me; his face contorted with mild annoyance, 'That wasn't part of the plan.' He whispered to me. Indeed it wasn't; all he'd wanted was the necklace. He'd offered me a handsome figure in exchange but I'd asked if I could join him instead; I originally did it in the hopes to annoy Sherlock. Now all I wanted to do was protect him.

'They'll only allow one civilian onto that case. You know as well as me; whatever trap is set will be for Sherlock. I won't let him do it Mycroft.' I whispered. 'Surely you should have worked that out?' I smiled vindictively.

'I wish you would have let me buy it off you; you're as much a target as Sherlock.' Mycroft hissed.

'Ok,' Lestrade brought everyone back to a unified focus. 'You got a deal Doyle, but I go in with you.'

'Fine, then I'm not wearing a wig.' I insisted; my eyes fluttered instantly to Sherlock to see his response.

'Course you won't; your hair looks fine.' Sherlock assured me; not really paying attention. He was scrolling through his phone; not looking at anything in particular. It was all an act.

'An earwig.' Mycroft corrected; taking immense pleasure at how visibly Sherlock lacked composure.

'Oh yes you are.' Sherlock snapped, looking up from his phone.

'Hey civilian, remember you're just that-'

'Shut up Donovan.' Myself, Lestrade and Sherlock should in unison. A slight blush ran to her cheeks and she busied herself with the papers she had in her shaking hands; I couldn't tell if it was anger or embarrassment.

'Make him see sense Lestrade. You'll be there; why do I need him buzzing around my head?' I muttered; throwing a pointed hand in Sherlock's direction.

'Who says he'll be there?' Both Sherlock and I raise a questioning eyebrow at this statement Lestrade made. 'Donovan will be in charge of the surveillance team.'

'Worse.' I mumbled and I saw Sherlock suppress a smirk.

'I don't see why I'm not the one going into the field?' Donovan moaned.

'Because you can scrub shit until you're blue in the face; all you're going to get is shiny shit!' My retort was too much for Sherlock; his coffee sprayed all over the table; if he weren't so mad at me I might have been forgiven right then and there. Donovan, on the other hand, looked like she would kill me if we were alone. 'My point is; we have one shot at this and my father's name still means something to the people who'll be there.'

'But you've been in hiding for almost ten years.' Donovan hissed.

'I would have gone to this; regardless. Consider this my debut.' I growled. I paused for a moment. 'She's right though; I've not been to an event in years. I've not got anything to wear.' And the thought of dress shopping filled me with dread.

'You're about the same size as my wife. She might have something that will work. I'll bring a few choices here on Saturday. I'll see you two-' He looked to Sherlock and myself. '-here on Saturday morning. Mycroft you've been pleasantly tame today; thank you.'


	18. She Had the World

_**I'd just like to say welcome to those of you who have placed my story on either their alerts or their favourite story lists. Thank you :D**_

_**Enjoy...**_

_Chapter Eighteen: She Had the World_

Lestrade had dismissed us and I didn't know what to do; kidnap Sam until this was all over, plead with her to see sense or shout at her until I was blue in the face. What she was planning on doing was completely dangerous and exactly what Moriarty wanted her to do.

As casually as possible I made my way around the table to try and talk to her but she was fast; by the time I got around the table she was out the door and halfway to the lift; she was avoiding me. She wanted me to be angry; she thought that if I was angry I wouldn't care. How wrong she was.

'You're a fool!' I roared as I caught up to her; I stood over her trying to be as intimidating as possible. I notice Mycroft at her side smirk at this.

'And mentally unstable,' She hissed as she all but punched the call button. 'At least now I know why you keep me in your life; I must be so utterly entertaining.'

'Now children play nice; father has a headache.' Mycroft intoned as the lift chimed and opened. We stepped inside and all I could think about was how I wanted to kill my brother. I'd put his scrawny neck between my hands and squeeze until he stopped breathing.

'You have a £10,000 necklace-' I begin to ask her; my arm over her resting on the wall of the lift. If it bothered her; she didn't let it show. I briefly remembered that Moriarty would have done something similar and I feel guilty.

'It's actually worth more like £100,000 now Sherlock.' Mycroft interrupted looking smug. 'I had it valued before I approached Miss Doyle-'

'You could have been living-' I began. She could have been living anywhere in London with that money. She could own property with that asset.

'It's the ONLY thing I didn't sell Sherlock.' She prickled; clearly this was a sore point and I'd over stepped with my insult. 'It's the most thoughtful thing my parent's ever bought me. Call it sentimental if you wish; but I'm sure you'd be pushed to find someone who wouldn't do the same.' An angry heat ate its way across her face. 'And I was happy with where I live, my life was-'

'Boring!' I interrupted. 'But now you're making up for that of course; irrationally entering into something which is quite clearly a trap.' I threw a warning glare at my brother as the door chimes to alert us that we'd reached our destination.

'No! Really?' She replied sarcastically as the doors hissed open and she stepped out. I pulled on her arm until she turned to face me; she sighed and placed her hands on her hips.

'Don't you think it's rather convenient that you have the very thing he wants?' I place my on her shoulders and look into her pained eyes. She'd not been sleeping; the skin below her eyes was a deep grey.

'I thought I covered that with "No! Really?" See you Saturday. Thanks again Mycroft.' She pulled away, turned on her heels and was gone before I could think of anything else to say.

'Well, that was entertaining but I'd best be off.' Mycroft made to follow in Sam's wake but I punched him square on the jaw before he could take a step. 'Well, that was a much improved attempt from the one you swung at me when you were twelve. My my, she really has gotten under your skin.' He mocked me as he nursed his jaw. 'In my car Sherlock; I don't have time to pander to you here.'

I obliged despite it being the last thing I wanted to do. He didn't need to instruct the driver any directions; he started without another word.

'Why did you involve Sam? Why can't you leave well alone? Things were getting back on track with her-' I moaned anger creeping through my body again. I was never further from my kiss with her; but Mycroft was not to know. At least I hoped he didn't.

'You put her into therapy. That my dear boy is far from being back on track.' Mycroft laughed at me.

'I thought she might have needed someone to talk to-'

'That's your job. She also has Dr Watson and Dr Telford. Clue is in their titles brother-' he was taking great pleasure in pointing out where I'd gone wrong.

'John said he was not educated in that form of medicine and Sarah-' I began to explain, but in reality I have no idea why I'd not gone to Sarah.

'You think she's incompetent because she falls apart around you. However it's far from the case. She's been quite good with Miss Doyle. Dr Telford does agree that she may need professional-' how would he know what 'Dr Telford' had to say? I thought before realising that John was not the only person who Mycroft had been conversing with.

'Ha, there you go-' it was beneath me, but it was an apt response to Mycroft's intelligence. I made a note that perhaps I should be a little more accepting of Sarah. She may be a bit of a drip but at least everyone, even my brother apparently, trusted her.

'-however, it has to be Miss Doyle's choice. Now, she went today.' Mycroft explained to me and I couldn't help but smile. 'I think she might go back, she wouldn't tell me much, but Sherlock-' he eyed me seriously '-don't ever expect a thank you for it. Imagine how you'd feel if you were told you had to see someone-'

'But I don't need therapy!' I corrected him sharply.

'No, of course you don't. How silly of me to even suggest it,' Mycroft intone. Did he really think I'd need to see a professional? 'Now that we've got that out the way shall we deal with the real reason why you're mad at me? I had no idea she was going to play the hero. I was trying to buy the necklace off her.'

'But why does she need to make the exchange?' I shuffled in my seat; I hated broadcasting my pain at the best of times, let alone to my brother.

'You are the first person she's cared about since her parents were murdered; her natural instinct is to protect you.' He placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder. I was gone so fast that I convinced myself I'd imagined it. 'What did you want to do when you heard the plan?'

'I wanted to go in and make the change. Still do.' I admitted as the car came to a stop outside Baker Street.

'She knows that.' Mycroft informed me. 'It's her way of showing you.'

'Showing me what?' I asked; my brow creased and my mouth went dry at the thought of someone, anyone, acknowledging how she felt about me.

'Doesn't matter, the word is not in the vocabulary.' Mycroft laughed and I opened the door and climbed out without another word; I was not going to take the bait.

Saturday couldn't come quick enough. John refused to relinquish my morphine that would waste away at least right hours. Instead he persistently pestered me; encouraging me to go and see her.

I was still trying to come up with a way in which I could swap places with Sam when my alarm rang Saturday morning. I contemplated digging out my tuxedo when I realised that she would see right through it and become stubborn.

I arrived later than intended because I used the taxi for an errand first. The lift took forever to ascend. The doors opened painfully slow and I made my way to Lestrade's section of the floor.

'What do you think about this one?' I heard her voice question.

'Yes, that one; like I care.' Donovan droned as I came around the partition wall. I took in all her beauty; she took my breath away.


	19. Time to Dance

_**This is actually really selfish of me but I'm uploading again because I really want you to read the next chapter... it may mean that there will be fewer uploads over the next few weeks but I'll try my best. :D**_

_**Please enjoy... and then review: because I need to know what you think and because my inbox is empty ;p**_

_Chapter Nineteen: Time to Dance_

The dresses itched and where too heavy on my tired frame. Donovan wasn't helping; in fact she wasn't even looking. I was down to the last one out of the choice of ten. All the others were too heavy and I'd written them off almost instantly. I was hoping this one would look ok as it felt like it was the lightest despite the beading and embroidery.

It was creamy silver, encrusted with jewel on the bodice and a full length skirt that I was sure to trip on. I'd not worn a dress in years, let alone a ball gown that fell to the floor. Thankfully Lestrade was educated in the world of women; enough to know that high heels were needed; again something which I was out of practice with wearing. Thankfully the necklace would go with it.

'What do you think about this one?' I stumbled out of Lestrade's office that had been my changing room for the last twenty minutes.

'Yes that one.' Donovan repeated the same words she'd used for the last three dresses. 'Like I care.' She seemed more interested in her split nails that making me look respectable.

'You look beautiful.' I heard his velvet smooth voice before I saw him. His usual buttoned down purple shirt. I was half expecting him in a tux; something to get him into the party too. I'd be disappointed if the sight of him alone didn't have my heart racing and my cheeks ablaze with heat.

'Euurrrghh; the Freak and the squint getting it on. I'll go tell Lestrade you've finally graced us with your presence.' Donovan muttered and hurried off.

I really wish she hadn't left us alone; I picked up the skirt so I could shuffle forward towards him.

'Thanks.' I mumbled as he handed me a gift box. Here he was doing the typical man thing; the thing that was not what I wanted. I envisioned a clutch of flowers inside the box and felt a little awkward and angry. 'This better not be any sort of flower?' I went to open the box; but he stopped me. His hands clutched onto mine as I held the box.

'Don't do this. Please let me go make-' I couldn't let him finish his sentence. I couldn't hear him beg. I removed one hand from beneath his and placed it on his lips. He closed his eyes briefly to admit defeat.

'-You're not a hero.' I giggled and shifted my feet at the thought that popped into my head. 'Besides, the necklace wouldn't suit you.' I spoke and felt his lips vibrate as he groaned happily. 'I can do this Sherlock.' I let my hand fall to his forearm, the other still clutch the box as he shifted his hand to my waist.

'I know you can I just don't want you to.' His words had my heart fluttering. He pulled away and allowed me to open the box; a knife, small enough to conceal in my purse. My heart melted; he knew I could do it and this was his way of accepting it. I was suddenly worried that if anything happened to me I'd never have kissed him. He knew how I felt, I knew how he felt. Why were we, with the brains we had, idiots? I looked into his eyes and took a step forward back into his arms; I could think of only one way to thank him. Unfortunately people had other ideas;

Lestrade appeared in his tuxedo and I disposed of my gift inside my purse. I had a feeling he would not approve and what he didn't know; he couldn't complain about.

'Right, lets get you hooked up.' Lestrade directed me to yet another office where new people poked and prodded me; placing wires here and there. The final touch was the earwig that was placed in my left ear.

'You will make small talk for half an hour before moving to the display room.' Donovan instructed before we were about to leave. 'I still feel you look like the odd couple. How are you going to explain arriving together?'

'He knew my father.' I insisted flippantly as I passed the necklace to Sherlock for him to attach it to my neck. His fingers curled under the chain and arranged it carefully on me. I couldn't help but notice his fingers lingered at the top of my breast. It sent a rush of goosebumps racing over my arms.

'Seriously?' Donovan choked. 'That's all you've come up with?'

'It's actually true.' Lestrade straightened his bow tie. 'You remember me?'

'Ah Lestrade; who'd forget you? You were the first police officer on the scene. You also received a disciplinary when you demanded the case reopened.' I couldn't help but wring my hands nervously. 'Dad always said you'd go far.'

'Well anyway, now we've got that sorted, make the change and get out. We don't want you in there when Moriarty makes his move.' Donovan explained.

XX

The earwig buzzed idly as we stepped into the busy reception a few hours later. Donovan , Sherlock and a selected team were cooped up in an unmarked van a few streets down.

I recognised a number of people; county clerks, politions and socialites; famous for nothing in particular. I spotted a woman who I shared halls with, Betty Carlton; now Mrs Beatrice Simpson as she informed me while making small talk. She had four children and a husband who was always away. She irritated me; she wanted to be a lawyer yet she was now a full time house wife; and loving it. It would have been ok if she even liked her children; but they were just an accessory to her; an excuse that stopped her from earning her own money.

Lestrade made our excuse and we moved on to collect a glass of champagne from the buffet table.

'Aren't tongues going to wag; you bringing a younger woman and not your wife to this?' I questioned as I took a sip. It had been a while since I'd had the bubbly liquid. I already wanted more.

'My wife understands; that's all that matters.' He informed me as he downed his own.

'Perhaps this was not a good idea.' Sherlock insisted through the earwig. 'You're drawing a lot of attention Sam; you're like a resurrected ghost.' Sherlock observed; I had a concealed camera somewhere on my body and Sherlock was making the most of it. I looked around and I understood what he meant; I was Catherine Doyle once more. The story of my parent's untimely death was being retold, people were wondering where I'd been and others were wondering who the hell I was.

'He's right Catherine.' Lestrade said pointedly glancing at the couple to our left who from the look of it were trying to decide which z-list celebrity I was.

'Well, let's use it to our advantage.' I placed my empty glass on the table and approached the guard and host that were positioned at the entrance of the display room. 'Mr Pritchard.' I greeted him warmly; Lestrade comfortably at my side.

'Miss Doyle. I was told you were here. Of course you wouldn't miss something as grand as this. I remember your father coming in to order-' He looked to my necklace '-that.' My hand instantly went to ensure it was still there.

'I was hoping; could I go in and have a look before you open it up to the public?' He didn't look convinced. 'Please, the last thing I want is a paparazzi photo of me in the morning crying. This is very emotional for me.' I managed to strain a tear.

'Clever girl.' Sherlock's electronic voice whispered in my ear.

'I even have Detective Inspector Lestrade here to keep an eye on me.' I added innocently. That seemed to do the trick.

'Ok, Miss Doyle. As it's you; I'll give you five minutes.' He nodded to the guard who let us passed. I heard Sherlock let go of the breath he'd been holding.

I stepped inside and willed myself not to get distracted. The entire collection of Elizabeth Taylor's jewels were here before me and I could not take them in. Lestrade was at the necklace before I could refocus; all the glass cases had been removed for today only so that people could try them on. His hands were on the chain when I approached.

'Don't move, don't talk, don't so much as sweat.' I placed my hand on his arm.

'What is it?' Sherlock hissed into my ear as I looked closer at the necklace.

'It's a fake; it's already been swapped.' I told both Lestrade and Sherlock. Lestrade's eyes widened in shock.

'Are you certain?' Sherlock asked; his voice well and truly strained.

'I've coveted this item since I could walk; it's a replica and a bad one at that.' I studied it; it was undoubtedly a fake.

'What about the others?' He asked and I proceeded to have a look at the others.

'I don't have as much knowledge of the others; but I think they're real.' I explained apologetically.

'You have to be certain Sam.' He urged me hesitantly. 'If it's the only fake-'

'It'll be bombed.' Lestrade finished.

'Can't we just get the bomb squad in?' I asked, returning to Lestrade's side.

'Sam, he'll be watching you. There'll be pressure sensors and a remote detonator. He'll blow it if he thinks you're getting help. He's not an idiot.'

'Forgive me for thinking out loud.' I shouted. I was nervous. 'We haven't got much time.'

'Doyle?' Lestrade questioned. I liked his use of my surname. I liked him; shame he was going to die. 'Get out of here.' He suggested.

'Fuck off!' I spat without thinking. 'Sir!' I tagged on to be polite. 'I saw the pictures of your kids; I'm not leaving you!'

'Well what do we do? The longer we stay here the greater the chance of us-'

'Going boom?' I offered 'Sherlock? Is there any way you can evacuate the building?' I was met with silence. 'Sherlock?'

My phone rang; unknown number. I had an idea who it was, what had happened and why the bomb had yet to go off.

'Communications are currently down.' A strange voice said as I placed the phone onto its speaker setting. Damn; Sherlock had told me about this. Someone, somewhere was held hostage with a bomb strapped to their chest. I heard a click; the call had been patched through.

'Hello Catherine!' His snake-like voice hissed down the phone at me.

'Hello James.' I drone.

'And why is Sherlock not there? I was hoping he'd blind side you Catherine and perform a little switch. I was hoping for a pair of kings!' His voice sent a chill over my body.

'Well you'll just have to settle for me and Lestrade. Blow us up already.' I goaded but my mind couldn't get passed what he said. He wanted a pair; he'd wanted Sherlock and Lestrade here and not me. I ended the call and I quickly replaced my hand with Lestrade's, pulling the gun from his holster as I did so. I placed it to his temple.

'What the hell?' He questioned.

'Leave now. He won't trigger the bomb while I'm here; it's some sick joke of his,' I insisted.

'I can't leave you; Sherlock would kill me.'

'So your choice is death, or death?' I cocked the gun, 'Get to Sherlock, keep him calm and whatever you do; don't let him leave the van.' The phone began to ring again. 'Please Gregory?' I waited until he left the room before answering the phone. 'Sorry honey; I went through a tunnel.'

'Don't do that again!' He roared, losing his composure; he didn't like that I wasn't scared of him.

'Or what Moriarty? You've had time to kill me you sick bastard. In fact you've had a shit load of time. I could be dead already if you wanted it so.'

'I want to kill Sherlock first!' He hissed.

'You'll have to outsmart him first.' I laughed. 'You will never get to me through him; do you understand. He's too clever for you!'

'That woman you heard on the phone; she's right outside the van your precious Sherlock is in.' He paused for effect. 'Ah, not so cocky now are we? Well, She's loaded with enough explosive to kill him.'

'What do you want from me?' I asked; my voice was strained and revealed my emotions to Moriarty.

'I'm more interested in Sherlock right now. Your time will come soon though Rapunzel.' The line went dead.

I felt the blast before I heard it; my bag, phone and gun were left in the room as I sprinted out of the reception party.


	20. I Write Sins Not Tragedies

_**Quite a short chapter however I don't want to force any more words into it and ruin the 'flow'**_

_**Please enjoy :D**_

_Chapter Twenty: I Write Sins Not Tragedies_

Her voice crackled over the radio and I willed myself to breathe; slow and steady. Lestrade commanded her to leave and I felt my chest tighten. I braced myself to leave the van and collect her. However I should have predicted that she'd say no. A nervous smile crept onto my face; at least I wasn't the only person she defied.

'Well what do we do? The longer we stay here the greater the chance of us-' Lestrade began but both the audio and visual connection was lost before he could complete his sentence. My phone began to ring.

'Check!' Moriarty's voice rang in my ear. 'You really shouldn't send your girlfriend to play your game Sherlock.' The line went dead.

'Damn,' I roared, throwing a nearby object across the confined space. Donovan was playing around with the computer, trying to get the audio up and running again. 'Leave it you idiot; he's jammed the signal. I'm going to get her.' I tried to stand but the van's roof got in the way and I clipped my ear; the pain did nothing for my anger.

'What's that going to achieve?' Donovan asked sharply without moving her gaze from the computer screen. She must have sensed the wounded look I was throwing her because she paused, turned and looked me in the eye 'Look fre- Sherlock; you bursting in there is going to get everyone killed, and I like my boss.'

'But I can't stand here wasting brain cells when they could be put to good use. If something happens to her-' I couldn't finish the sentence. The thought was unbearably painful. The door of the van yanked open and there stood Lestrade. I stared at him expectantly, hoping that Sam was behind him.

'I'm sorry.' He panted. 'He- She-'

'Where's Sam?' I growled approaching the breathless man.

'She- well... She aimed my gun at me and told me to go. She said to keep you calm.' He argued. I still wasn't happy and I didn't know who I wanted to kill more; him or Sam.

'Well you know what would have kept me calm? You being at her side; doing your damn job!' I said through gritted teeth/

'He's got another body bomb somewhere.' He informed Donovan. 'Find out where and find out yesterday.' He sat down in my vacated seat and she busied herself with her laptop and phone.

'I can't breathe in here.' I excused myself and climbed out of the van despite Lestrade's protests. My hands were shaking and I didn't know what to do. Running in to get her could get us both killed. Staying here could lead to Sam being killed; and I couldn't imagine my life without her.

My phone began to ring and my heart stopped beating completely. I pressed to answer it and brought it to my ear. It wasn't Moriarty but the body bomb, as Lestrade had aptly named them the last time they'd appeared.

'Check mate.' Was all the woman said before the bomb went off. Had I not have dropped my phone I probably would have heard the click before the line went dead because the phone was destroyed in the blast. Instead I panicked and bolted for the direction of Sam.

Mt lungs burned but I didn't stop. I wouldn't stop until I knew she was safe. My legs tangled in my coat and I almost fell as I rounded the corner that Christies was on. It was chaos on the streets; people were huddled in petrified groups trying to figure out where the blast had come from. I couldn't see her among the dressed up. Approaching the party I had a sense of over whelming fear,

No smoke; the bomb had not been here. Where was she? Moriarty would not have kidnapped her; it was too tacky.

I wish I'd not dropped my phone. I stepped through the abandoned jewellers and into the display room. It was dangerous; I was well aware of that. This was exactly where he'd wanted me in the first place.

Sam's belongings, including her phone, were beside the display of the necklace in question. I was picking them up when the phone rang;

'Why did you let her come instead of you?' He questioned me when I answered the phone. 'You're no longer predictable. She's changed the game; she's changed you!' He spat as if the thought was poisonous. 'You would never think a woman was worthy of a job-'

'Shut up Moriarty!' I put the phone down on him. He no longer had me worked out so I was safe; for now! I had more important things to attend to. Unfortunately, I'd angered him. I'd gotten to the outer doors of Christies before his anger subsided enough for him to detonate the bomb; too late for me to be fatally wounded.

I was knocked to the ground. When I gingerly got myself to my feet I felt blood trickling from my forehead. I couldn't go faster than a walk as I was still disorientated; what would I do if she was not back there? I pulled off my scarf to stem the blood flow.

I neared the van; Lestrade looked grey. He was shouting down his phone at someone; asking about the location of the second explosion. He paled further at the sight of me; had he really kidnapped her? I yanked open the door of the van.

There she was; angry tears spilling down her face as she was pinned down on the chair by Donovan who was nursing a bloody nose. They both turned to me when the door opened. Donovan released her; but we both stood frozen for a moment.

I didn't wait for her to speak. As she stood I put my hands on her face and my fingers delved into her hair; I brought her lips up to mine. As I kissed her the people, the noise, the chaos all melted away. I felt her hands reach up to my coat collar and she pulled me further into her.

'I was so scared,' I admitted as I pulled away to kiss her beautiful, perfectly intact, forehead. 'If I lost you-' I began but she claimed my lips before I could finish the sentence.

'I heard the second blast. She wouldn't let me go. I thought he'd gotten to you.' She whispered; her voice thick with unrelenting tears.

'I'm here.' I whispered 'I'm safe.' I collapsed onto the chair beside me; Sam coming with me in a full hug.

'Can I stay with you tonight?' She asked amid a blush. I let out a laugh and tell her she can stay with me every night. I close my eyes; taking in the weight of her on my legs as proof that we were both alive and well. I let out an exhausted, yet contented, sigh as the van door opened once more.

'So where exactly where these two bombs?' Lestrade asked the population of the van.

'One was your body bomb. The second was Christies.' I explained as Sam removed herself from my lap and clamped a wad of material to my forehead which had begun to bleed again. 'We can expect him to-'

'Let's not worry about that for today. Let's clean up the current mess first.' Lestrade interrupted 'Clark; get an unmarked here to take Mr Holmes and Miss Doyle home once Holmes' head has been stitched up.' He approached Sam 'I'm glad you're safe Doyle.' He clamped his arms round her in one of very few awkward hugs I'd seen him give.


	21. Nearly Witches Ever Since We Met

_**Ok guys... please don't hate me for jumping ahead in time, but it was the only way I was comfortable. I attempted three different scenes that took place the same day of the bombings and they just seemed anti-climactic. (I will post these attempts as 'out takes' at the end of the story) At least picking up from here gets you away from their 'firsts' so that the story has a little more flow to it.**_

_**There was also the problem of their first sexual encounter -They do have a sexual relationship, as you will see from this chapter, and I'm hoping you agree with how I've dealt with it is quite Sherlock-esque. There are certain things I've had in my head about my Sherlock: the idea of sex, his opinion of children and the declaration of love; which have been my inspiration for this piece.**_

_**I really am worried about your responses guys so please give me feedback; is he still in character? (Not so much the loyalty to the BBC show; but have I made him consistent in this piece) Are you still liking the story? Is there anything you'd like to see happen/ predictions?**_

_**The only chapter I'm more worried about you guys reading is the next one as it deals with his opinion of babies. What do you think he'll say?**_

_**Sorry about the ramblings tonight, but I am incredibly nervous about the reception of this chapter. It was the first one I wrote after have a day away from the piece I literally have butterflies.**_

_**Please, enjoy (and be kind) ...**_

_Chapter Twenty-One- Nearly Witches (Ever Since We Met)_

I now lived at Baker Street. We'd still taken the basement flat so that I had a space of my own where I could go to write. It was nice to be down there sometimes; Sherlock kept unpredictable hours that would disturb my thoughts.

He never disturbed me there once he'd helped me decorate and organise my workspace. I had a table for my laptop, a table to write at and the comfiest high backed chair I'd ever sat it. Sherlock had brought it home the day after I'd moved in. He claimed he'd seen it and thought it would inspire me.

Home! It was home; a place I ran to and not from. A place I felt warm, safe and protected. I still ventured out into the urban jungle; but it was from a want and not a need. Sherlock would sometimes walk with me; our discussions where varied and long. He'd become an open book to me and I adored his furious passion when he'd get Lestrade's call.

Three months had gone by and not a whisper was heard from Moriarty. Sherlock insisted that he was just licking in wounds and would be back once he'd formed a new, even more sadistic, plan. Sherlock's scar was still visible to only me and that insufferable Molly. I wasn't jealous; she just irritated me. The scar reminded me that he was human; Molly saw it as a heroic symbol. I'd met her once when a call had interrupted mine and John's lunch. She prickled at my presence, dropped lukewarm tea in my lap and blocked my view of the cadaver we were there to see; I instantly put her above Donovan on my hate list.

I'd not told Sherlock but his book was almost ready. John currently had the master manuscript with the intention of reading through it and giving me his insights; I wanted Sherlock to appear humble yet fully developed and this could only happen by hearing another person's perspective. John was currently in work; sneaking peaks at the manuscript between patients.

I on the other hand, was curled on the couch; book balanced on my lap and a large cup of tea clutch in my hand. I was having a day off from writing and had immersed my into a crime thriller while passing the time before meeting up with Sarah. Sherlock was out and this was the only time I could read it without him solving it for me. How he deduced the killer and motive from the blurb I'd never know. I swelled with pride as I thought about how he should be a consultant for some of these writers. I wouldn't admit it to Sherlock but I was relatively new to the crime genre. I was more a supernatural, science fiction or fantasy kind of person; but Sherlock's life had me curious.

I heard the front door open and my heart fluttered; I really liked that his presence could do that to me. Before I knew it he was before me; his coat discarded downstairs.

'Hello princess.' He smiled as I cringed. He approached the fire place to check the mail. As always, there was nothing of importance in the pile.

'Stop calling me that.' I hissed. Pet names did not suit him, or me, but he was making a point. He'd climbed over the coffee table and sat down on the lip of the table. I rested my hand on his knee; allowing myself to lose the page of the book.

'Well let me use your real name. You're not Sam to me anymore; that mask has slipped.' His legs curled under the table until his knees where on the floor. He leaned over me and planted a heavy kiss on my lips. 'That kind of happened when I saw-'

'Stop it Sherlock! Talking about sex to get your own way is cheap.' I push him away and notice he has his crooked, playful, smile hung on his face.

'But it's incredibly fun,' he winked. 'If I'd realised there was so much power in the act I would have used it long ago.' I quickly disposed of my read and book as clambered onto the couch and placed his body on mine. 'Shame the thought of all other women repulses me.'

He'd changed. Not to anyone else; just to me. I had helped him make a discovery; a craving he never realised he could ever have. Just like any of his addictions; he craved me more at times of heightened emotions. He'd devour me like a hungry animal; and I almost never denied him.

After being at Baker Street for two weeks John and I had a long conversation while Sherlock was out. His use of drugs did not surprise me as much as John was expecting it to. I asked many questions but remained positive. John breathed a sigh of relief. He had been worried that I'd run.

Sherlock had the buttons of both his and my own shirt undone, my hands pinned above my head and his lips exploring my tender collarbone when he ruined the passionate moment.

'Please, let me call you Catherine.' I have to admit it sounded amazing rolling off his tongue and vibrating off my neck as he kissed me ravenously. It had me wanting to beg an encore moan of my name; but what about when he wasn't there? I knew the monster's voice would impose once Sherlock had left.

'No!' I was off the couch and he was left sprawled; dishevelled, confused and hurt; he was still new to rejection. My heart broke slightly as he looked completely wounded; and I would have relented had I not have been so angry. 'I am Sam. Sam I am!' I shouted, pulling my shirt closed again.

'You're not Sam to 're Cath-' He began; sitting up on the couch.

'A rose by any other name would smell as sweet Sherlock. It does not matter what I'm called.' I insist from my stand off point beside the fireplace.

'Than I can call you-' He insisted; pushing me too far.

'Except that! Look if you have such a problem with Sam; call me Doyle like Lestrade does.' I suggested. He didn't answer; he was sulking. When I turned round, he was facing the back of the couch in his slouched foetal position. 'You're such a child at timed.' I laughed. I understood why he wanted to call me Catherine; he wanted to have fixed everything that had gone wrong for me. He wanted a tangible sign that Moriarty was no longer the controlling force in my life. I'd spoken about it at great length with my therapist. We both agreed that in time I would change my name back; just not yet.

'Do you have plans for the weekend?' He disturbed my thoughts.

'Writing,' I replied. Mycroft had gotten me a job at the local paper; a column of random musings. I half suspected that Mycroft made the position up just so that I had a job; I needed the money so I wasn't going to complain.

'How do you fancy getting away?' He asked; sat in a more open position on the couch.

'A case? Where we going; Spain, New York, China?' I asked; my imagination going wild.

'Wales.' He replied.

'Wales? What's in Wales?'

'It's not for a case; I just want to get away.' He insisted, I smiled but shook my head. It sounded like heaven for me but I couldn't do it to him. I thought about all the writing I could get done in such a peaceful environment before is dissolved into an image of all the writing I wouldn't get done because Sherlock would need constant entertainment and attention; or at the very least a distraction.

'It's the middle of nowhere; you're going to be bored out of your high functioning mind.' I insist. It was such a nice thought; that was enough to make me happy. I walked away and into the kitchen to hide the disappointment that would not leave my face. I didn't want him thinking I considered it an empty offer. I knew he wanted to take me; I just also knew he wouldn't cope.

'I'll get lost in your beauty.' He joined me in the kitchen. 'Please-' he paused. '-Sam.' He threw his arms around my waist.

'Ok.' I giggled. 'Our first weekend away; what should I pack?' I mused turning to face him.

'Oh nothing will do.' He claimed my lips.

'Right,' I planted a final kiss on his lips. What I had intended to be a soft kiss, he turned into a battle of the sense that left me breathless. 'I have to go meet Sarah at the bottom of the street; we have self defence class.'

'Stay and pin me between your legs instead.' He kissed my neck and my resolve was almost gone; his appetite was vivacious.

'You're like a fifteen-year-old boy who's discovered his penis for the first time.' I groaned weakly as he continued to kiss my collarbone; unbuttoning my shirt with his exploring hand.

'No, just one who's discovered it works better with an attachment.' He kissed me deeply to distract me from the fact that he was picking me up to sit me on the kitchen table. I did not deny him. Sarah was going to kill me; but I was not going to be able to leave now; not unless an intervention was made.

'Miss Doyle,' I heard a soft knock at the door and I was able to remove myself from the table and fix my shirt before Mrs Hudson shuffled into the living room. 'Miss Telfod's downstairs looking for you.'

'Thank you Mrs Hudson.' I mutter, embarrassed that we'd almost been caught and that I'd almost let him win. I saw the twinkle in his eye that let me know that it had been his plan all along. I collected my things before returning to Sherlock. 'Behave yourself.' I warned before giving him a soft, lingering kiss.

* * *

><p>Sarah and I had joined the self defence class near her apartment at the request of John and Lestrade. Sherlock, of course, saw it as pointless. It had come about because we had an 'aftermath' meeting with the team at Scotland Yard. I'd asked John if he would show me how to use a gun. He said he would if I completed a self defence course first. Lestrade agreed that it was a good idea and gave me a few names. Sarah came along more as company than anything else; not that John was complaining.<p>

We were now sat in the cafe below her apartment, sipping coffee, after the class. Sarah had chosen to sit out for today; watching instead as I gained praise from the instructor. I was determined to pass so I could handle a gun in time for Moriarty's return.

'How are things?' She asked. 'I don't mean for you to take this the wrong way but I thought that maybe he would have-'

'Gotten bored by now?' I laughed.

'No! I thought he would have irritated the hell out of you by now. You don't seem to be the type of person to put up with the crap that John does.' She explained.

'Well I offer him something that John can't and it seems to be keeping him in line.' I wink.

'And you didn't think that interested him?' She smiled. 'What about the rest? Have you decided if you want it?'

'What; Marriage, baby and the quiet life?' I asked and she nodded. 'I haven't thought about it.' My attempt at nonchalance didn't work on her. 'Except that I have and I do!' I blushed. 'Well, marriage I can do without. The quite life; I can give up because I love how excited he gets when he gets the call for a new case.'

'The baby?' She asked me.

'I want the baby. Not right now but some day.' I chewed my lip 'he can't have an intelligent conversation with anything prepubescent.' I groaned my head falling to the table in frustration. 'He hot footed it all the way to Japan when I told him about my connection to Moriarty; imagine what he'd do with this information?' I mused for a moment. 'But what about you?' I watched a bashful, excited blush creep onto her face. 'Nooooo?'

'I don't know yet.' She hushed me. 'I'm about three weeks late. Sam, I'm going to ask John to move in with me. How do you think Sherlock will react?'

'He's got me.' I repeated my declaration that I told her months ago.


	22. Behind the Sea

_**Ok, this could be quite a controversial chapter for some. Please enjoy... this is going somewhere.**_

_**As always; please review.**_

_**Enjoy**_

_Chapter Twenty-Two: Behind the Sea_

The weekend was bliss and I didn't want it to end; I wrote endlessly while Sherlock rested. Occasionally I caught him staring at me but he never once claimed that he was bored. The cottage brought him an inner peace. He didn't need to keep up any social graces; I didn't care if he slipped. He didn't have to be polite and I had no need to correct him or tell him he was being rude. He was isolated; the way he liked it. I had company that did not intrude; just the way I liked it.

I entertained the idea of having a quiet life with Sherlock for about half an hour late Saturday afternoon before I realised I could cross it off my list of wants. I could care about the adventures; it was what made him mine. While he was at peace; it would not be long before he craved a challenge. He was able to shut off his mind for short spaces of time; but not indefinitely.

I ensured his sexual needs were fulfilled in return for letting me write all day in peace. I'd tidy away and creep to the couch where he lay. I'd kiss him with a heat and passion that would have him awake in seconds. He'd later sleep for hours; his energy well and truly spent. I'd watch him sleep; sprawled on his front and not in his uniformed rigid stance on his back like he usually slept; something was changed in him.

Sunday morning came too soon and I lay naked beneath the covers waiting for Sherlock to return. I'd woken up to find his side of the bed empty and cold. I couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. I checked the cottage; his belongings were still here, but the rented car was gone.

It was gone twelve and I'd gotten changed when I heard the door click alerting me to his presence. I clambered into the kitchen as he appeared clutching a full cardboard box.

'What on earth have you got there?' I asked resting on the door frame.

'I'm going to cook!' He declared triumphantly. I really didn't want to dishearten him but I tentatively looked at my watch; surly he realised?

'We have to be on the road in just over two hours; whatever you have there won't cook in time.' I say softly peering over the box. He grabbed me by the middle, spun me around until I giggled and then plonked me on the table beside the box.

'I've extended our stay.' He smiled brightly. 'I've spent the morning arranging it. I like see you so happy.' He kissed me before grabbing a slab of pinky red meat from the box and placing it on the side.

'So you're going to cook?' I asked, peering into the box once more.

'Roast spring lamb and-' he pulled out a large paper bag '-whatever vegetables they had for sale in the farm next door.' He peered in himself and pulled out a plump cauliflower that was too big for just us. He placed it in the sink ready to be washed. 'John and Sarah are on their way so they can spend the evening here. They apparently have news that can't wait until we get back,' He pulled out enough new potatoes to feed a family of eight and placed them into a bowl.

'Oh really?' I tried to sound as innocent as possible; but I knew that if he was paying attention I was giving it away by chewing on my dry bottom lip.

'Personally, telling me they're expecting a baby could be said over the phone.' He muttered. Trust him to work it out. 'It was obvious.'

'Don't tell them that!' I insisted, moving from my perch to the corner part of the unit beside Sherlock. 'They want to tell you in person because it's important to them. You're meant to be surprised and happy.'

'I am happy.' He explained. I watched him prepare the food; he washed and dried the meat before drying it in a fresh towel. He scored the skin with surgical precision before putting into the preheated oven. I felt my heart race as he skirted past me to wash his hands; now was the time to have the conversation. I shuffled uncomfortably, chewing on my thumb nail. 'What is it Sam?' He asked without looking up from the second chopping board full of green beans, carrots and cabbage.

'I might want a baby.' I blurt before I could form it into an intelligent sentence. I cringed and swore I'd kick myself if this conversation went badly.

'Ok,' Sherlock shrugged. Had he misheard me? His voice was clipped; was he just trying to humour me?

'A baby Sherlock? I want a baby.' I repeated with a little hysteria.

'Right now?' He pointed the knife at the worktop; his eyes briefly left the vegetable to meet my own confused eyes.

'Well, no but-' I blushed and shuffled my feet again. '-I want one with you, eventually.' At this stuttered declaration he placed the knife down on the board and gave me his full attention.

'Well I should hope you'd want it to have my genes.' He leaned into me and gave me a hug. 'Sex has a primary function Sam; by engaging one I am accepting the eventual probability of the other.' He explained. How did make something I was losing sleep over sound so logical and easy? I did not know this man at all. 'I have a few reservations and conditions however.' He explained and I push him away so I can see his eyes and judge the seriousness of his statement; deadly. 'Let's resolve the issue of Moriarty-'

'Deal.' I chime happily. The last thing I wanted was another play thing for that monster to use and abuse. I thought that was all. My stomach lurched; 'What else?' I groaned. I raise it alone? He got to experiment on it? He got to call it Gertrude? A million and one questions, serious and absurd, ran through my head at an alarming rate.

'When you accept being called Catherine- or some derivative- you'll be ready. Our children will know that their mother is a strong warrior. You can only do that if you're true to yourself.' He kissed me firmly and ushered me out of the kitchen. I agree but walk back a moment late; 'What?' He asked.

'Children?' I question him.

'That a problem?' He had returned to chopping and preparing; he was ending the conversation.

'Not in the slightest.'

I sat in the bedroom; the chair pushed up against the window. Within an hour I push away the thought of writing; I was too distracted. What if he made that request knowing, or thinking at least, that I would never accept being called Catherine again? His character, his methods, his moods; all implied his was not capable of contemplating parenthood. Why at that point I began to hesitate; I couldn't tell anyone. There was no logical reason for my wanting of a child. I was happy that he suggested more than one; I always hated growing up alone. I longed for a brother that never came.

I sat there; forming our family in my head until the sky began to bleed and the light was chased away for another evening. Sherlock thoughtfully brought me a cup of tea and informed me that John and Sarah were less than half an hour away. I asked him what he'd been doing all afternoon when I'd noticed I'd been in my own world for at least five hours. He told me he was making the most of the silence and thinking. Always thinking! I smiled as he left me alone to get ready.

Dinner was incredible, I devoured every morsels. Sarah made her announcement while Sherlock handed out the beautifully crafted desert. We were a muddle of arms as I hugged and congratulated the happy couple. Sherlock hung back; watching us.

Both John and I volunteered to wash up while Sarah and Sherlock retreated to the chairs by the fire. John and I never fought over the roles; I'd wash he'd dry. We had a routine. Something Sherlock would never enter into.

'I'll be damned.' John declared when he observed Sherlock and Sarah deep in conversation; their heads inclined and concentration on their faces. It was something I'd noticed minutes ago and my heart lifted. 'He's capable of human contact after all.'

'It's nice.' I smile as I hand him a plate. 'It's all she's ever wanted; acceptance.'

'You've never looked so happy Sam.' He took another plate from me. 'I take it you've asked him?'

'She told you?' I growl and he nods. 'Of course she did; she wanted to make sure she wasn't giving me false hope.'

'She was worried.' He agreed as I handed him the last dish. 'I don't want to interrupt them while they're making progress. Do you fancy a walk?' He peered out the window. 'Catch the sunset before I take my missus back to the city.'

'I would love to.' I took his offered arm.

XX  
>When we returned Sarah and Shelock were in fits of giggles. Sherlock was in storytelling mode; it wasn't as dry as when he would tell me back when we first met but with a hint of bravado. I knocked back a flare of jealousy by reminding myself that I was the reason for this warmth.<p>

'We have to get back.' John helped Sarah up from her seat when Sherlock reached the end of his recollection.

'Thank you for a wonderful time.' She hugged my cold frame before making her way outside.

'Never thought I'd see a domestic side to you old man.' John laughed. 'Hope you bring it home with you. I'll let you know if anything comes up.' I felt like I'd missed something.

'Thank you,' Sherlock insisted as he walked them both to their car. I decided to stay inside and warm myself by the fire. 'Where'd you go?' He asked when he returned, slipping his arms around my waist as I faced the fire.

'Took John up on the hill to watch the sunset; we didn't want to interrupt you and Sarah. That was ok wasn't it?' I asked sinking into his arms.

'Of course,' He spun me around for a lingering kiss. 'Couldn't think of anywhere safer for you to be.'

'I can!' I threw my eyes to the bedroom door. He didn't say another word; he scooped me into his arms and headed for the bedroom.


	23. From a Mountain in the Middle

_**I hope you enjoy. Unfortunately this will be the only chapter this weekend as I'm struggling with the next chapter.**_

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_**Reviews may help of course...**_

_Chapter Twenty-Three: From a Mountain in the Middle of the Cabins_

It had been ninety-four days, seven hours and forty minutes since I'd first kissed Sam. Her company was more potent than any drug I'd ever experienced. I felt, on occasion, that I was using her.

My body constantly responded to her touch and I ached for her during my daily withdrawals. She was never waiting for me; I liked that I'd not become her world. Her independence was her most attractive quality. She'd come up from her writing den at about six every evening regardless of whether I was there or not.

I knew at times I could be too much; either silent and brooding or erratic and consuming. She never seemed to mind; she'd just get on with her own thing and not try to change the mood I was in. The only thing she sometimes stopped was my need for her. I'd lose myself in the euphoria of her most nights when she would entertain the idea.

She explained that she was rejecting me because her body didn't respond like mine; she couldn't crave something I was giving freely. Soon after that I distracted myself with a complex case and my absence had her fevered in lust; it had been energetic and I submitted to her will until we both found release. We finally found a balance to out wants and needs; equals.

I slept more than her now; deeper and more restorative. How was it that a distraction could improve my thought process? I knew there was a release of chemicals involved with sex; but it was more than that.

The weekend in our secluded cottage wasn't enough; she was content here and I didn't want that contentment to end. I slipped out Sunday morning to phone the relevant people to arrange the extension. I invited John over for a late afternoon roast; a request John initially didn't take seriously.

It was during the preparation of lunch that Sam finally let slip what was on her mind. I was expecting it to be Moriarty; how wrong I was. She became unstuck as she asked me about our future; a baby, a family.

Could I be a father?

That was down to science; we were both healthy and of the right age. I couldn't see the problem in creating a life. But being a dad; looking after that life? My range of emotions were, and always would be, limited. It had taken me all this time to find a person I could bring myself to love. I couldn't bring myself to reject a child; they would never understand. Would Sam have enough love to give the child for both of us? What if the children turn out like me; did she have enough patience for the both of us?

There was a lot of doubt wandering around my mind but I shelved it and decided only time would tell if I was capable of being a parent. It was what Sam wanted and I would give her the world if I was capable. She seemed pleased with my response; I would question Sarah about it later that day insisting that we'd not spoken about our sexual relationship so why would we discuss the consequence of our actions?

Sarah would explain to me that mist couples discuss the topic of new life regardless of how the sexual relationship was started. She also explained that because I was not so social forthcoming I would have to forgive Sam's perception that I appeared less that accepting of the idea of parenthood.

Sarah was wonderfully insightful. We talked for over an hour; the crackling fire adding warmth to our friendship. She questioned me about my behaviour; my thought processes. We talked about Sam and my foolish decision to put her in therapy. We talked about John and we both agreed that it was time for him to move out.

Sex with Sam that night was relentless and inhabited. She gave herself to me completely and I gave her all that she needed. Sleep overcame her almost instantly and I was left to drift in my own euphoric bliss for a while.

Could I protect her from Moriarty? Should I protect her from him or give her enough to protect herself? I'd called her a warrior today and that was no lie. I always thought Moriarty would die at my hand; but now I was not so sure.

It was the one thing we never really talked about and it was something I could never work out; did she want answers or revenge? I looked to her sleeping form and wondered what killing Moriarty would do to her?

'I can hear you thinking,' She mumbled when I brushed my hand gently through her hair. She stirred and turned to face me.

'Sorry.' I whispered into her hair.

'Want to talk about it?' She opened her eyes with force. She was in no condition to listen to me and I wasn't about to bring him up and cause her nightmares.

'No, you sleep. It's time to stop thinking anyway.' I slipped down in the bed until my head hit the pillow. She curled into me; her flesh warm and inviting. Her head rested upon my chest and I drifted off to the sound of her heart beating in time with mine.

We stayed in bed all the next day; moving only to share a bath. She drifted in and out of a contented sleep. I felt like this could go on forever. My brain was quiet; untaxed and peaceful.

The next day I was awoken by glorious smells wafting in from the kitchen. I heard a babble of jazz music and wonder how I had not heard it before. Clambering out of bed I found my boxers, checked my quiet phone and left in search of the music, food and girlfriend.

It was a bomb site when I arrived; food was everywhere and flour danced in the air. Batter was smeared in her pinned up hair and she bounced across the room arranging things. It was a shame to see her beautiful body wrapped up in her clothes.

'I suppose I have to clear this up?' I question with a laugh. She jumped at my voice.

'Damn, I wanted to wake up with breakfast in bed.'

'Coffee?' I questioned with a kiss. She obliged with a mug full of the dark liquid. I sat at the table. She'd been out and bought juice and papers; all the things I'd have if I was around at breakfast.

'I tried to make fritters like my mum used to make.' She put a plate of friend breakfast in front of me and I dug in while she began clearing up. 'I know it's probably your idea of hell but I was planning on taking a picnic up to the top of the mountain; and I thought, hoped, you might like to join me.'

'Why not!' I put the papers to the side; the world could wait a little longer. 'Sam, you know I'll do anything that would put that beautiful smile on your face?'

'I do now!' She flashed me the smile in question. She'd finished cleaning by the time I ate my fill and promptly ushered me into the bedroom to get dressed while she prepared the picnic

We reached the summit a little after two. She set up the picnic as I looked over the countryside. I sat down beside her and sighed contently.

'Moriarty?' She questioned out of the blue as she handed me a flask of tea. My face slips at the very mention of him; could he not leave us alone and not ruin a perfect week. 'Don't look at me like that Sherlock. We both know he plagues our thoughts. Avoiding the topic is not doing us any good. Is the plan to capture or kill him?'

'My initial plan is to not die myself. After that I'm afraid it all depends; the main aim is to stop him from harming anyone else.' I explain.

'Do you think he'll tell me why he killed my parents?' She asked again.

'He'd tell you something if you were to ask; it would be up to you whether you believe him or not.' I say the only thing I can.

'You won't let me compromise myself to find out will you Sherlock?' She utters. 'Promise me you'll stop me if I try to risk my life to find out the truth.' She answered the question I'd asked myself two nights ago.

'I promise.' I kiss her forehead. We lay down on the blanket for an hour watching the clouds pass by. She told me about her own novel that she was writing; a historical adventure. It was the first time she'd opened up about her creativity.

My phone was ringing when we'd arrived back, It had started raining and Sam had headed straight for the bathroom for a towel. I missed the call as I got to my phone; I couldn't believe I'd forgotten it. I had ten texts and twice as many missed calls all from the same number that I didn't recognise; all in the space of twenty minutes.

'Hey, Sarah's been ringing my phone something frantic.' Sam stepped into the room towelling her hair. I try and stop her from calling her back but it was too late. 'Hey, sorry I've not had my phone on me. We went for a walk up the mountain and-' Her face was frozen in horror. '- what? No! You were just here -' Her towel dropped to the floor. '-We'll be back as quickly as possible.'I look at her; I was frozen in place and my breath caught as she ended the call. 'John's been shot; he's in surgery right now.'

I didn't know what to say. As soon as I spoke and acknowledge what she had said it would become real. Things couldn't get any worse than this.

'Sherlock; she's alone in that hospital waiting for him to come out of surgery.' Her voice was thick. I told her not to worry, to get her things and we'd leave right away. 'Sherlock, she's bleeding. She thinks she's loosing the baby.'

And then it got worse.


	24. Trade Mistakes

_**Ok, so an afternoon in Starbucks has led to this. I hope it's ok for everyone. I'm posting it now so I don't get writers remorse...**_

_Chapter Twenty-Four: Trade Mistakes_

It was dark when Sherlock pulled up in the car park of the hospital in London. Sherlock hadn't driven as fast as I would have liked. He was keeping to the limits and keeping his emotions well and truly subdued. I'd braced my feet firmly on the dash and ignored his protests about it being dangerous. I chewed on my lip in silence until it bled.

There in that rented car we had our first fight. I blamed him, I blamed Moriarty; Sherlock told me we couldn't be certain it was him. That annoyed me more because I knew it was a lie; designed to keep me calm. I told him I was sure Sarah wouldn't have told anyone she was bleeding which then caused me to go on another rant. He took it all; he never once shouted back.

As soon as I saw her I became calm. I knew my job; loyal, dependable friend who wouldn't fall apart under pressure. I sat next to her sobbing frame and hugged her. Sherlock stood uncomfortable off to the side.

'What has the doctor said?' I asked passing her a tissue as the sobs subsided.

'Not much. The bullet has definitely punctured his lung.' She sniffed. 'He's critical and they don't know if any of his other organs have been hit. If he makes it through the surgery they'll more than likely take him to intensive care.'

'What happened?' Sherlock asked; his voice was cold and emotionless. It set me on edge. He could be cold with me, that was fine, but not Sarah. Not heartbroken Sarah. I gave him a warning glare which he promptly ignored. 'Sarah; what happened for John to get shot?' He repeated.

'We disturbed a robber at Baker Street. We'd come home from work,' I watched her eyes glaze over as she relived the experience. I wanted to kill Sherlock for making her do this. 'John wanted to pick up a bloody dvd to watch tonight. The guy was there in the living room going through your papers. I wasn't going to go with him originally. Imagine if I'd not gone-' She broke down once again.

'Hush. There's no point thinking like that.' I soothed, throwing yet another warning stare at Sherlock.

'Have you made a statement to the police?' Sherlock asked.

'Sherlock,' I hiss. 'Give her a minute.' I stand in the way as a means of protection; he was not going to interrogate my friend any more.

'It's ok Sam. Yes, Lestrade came by-' She began to explain but he promptly walked away without another word. I explained to Sarah that I'd be back before I ran off in pursuit. He was down two flights of stairs before I caught up with him; my heart racing.

'Where are you going?' I asked sharply, pulling on his arm until he stopped. He turned to look at me; confused at this hold up. 'Where you going?' I repeated. I had no intention of letting him go.

'I have things to do.' He explained impatiently. All the progress we'd made while we were away was dissolved. He couldn't look at me; I hadn't meant it when I blamed him, why couldn't he see that?

'No Sherlock. This is where you need to be; waiting for the news of your best friend, keeping his girlfriend company and perhaps convincing her to see a doctor. Most important of all, you need to be here beside me so I can look after to you.' I put my hand to his face but he pulled away. 'Sherlock?'

'I am of no use here.' He explodes. I briefly consider how he must have all these feelings boiling up inside him and no knowledge of how to deal with them. 'Me being here has no impact upon the outcome. I can't save John's life with any of the knowledge I possess, but I can catch the bastard who did this.' He stopped talking; breathless with the overwhelming release of emotion he'd just experienced. I understood completely. I just hoped he was going to do as he said. I pulled him in and kissed him.

'Be safe.' I insist. 'This is not your fault Sherlock.'

'I know that.' He snaps at me. 'Sorry. I'm just- I can't explain it.' He draws me into a hug. 'Please stay at Sarah's tonight. I'll come get you in the morning.' He walked away and my soul felt cold. Regardless of the outcome of tonight; he would be dosing himself with morphine. It was no way to be but there was nothing I could do to stop him. I took a moment to sit and cry; what a mess. I had to be strong though.

I returned to Sarah five minutes late; my face void of any evidence that I'd been crying. I'd placed my mask of strength firmly over my face and I questioned her about the baby. She'd noticed spots of blood when she had ventured into the toilet when John had initially gone into surgery. She was too frightened of the implications to alert anyone. She assured me it was a common thing to occur during early pregnancy but I wasn't accepting it. I commandeered a nearby nurse and insisted that she run tests on Sarah.

An hour later she was admitting for the evening; the baby seemed fine but they wanted to monitor just in case. I settled into the chair beside her bed when they gave us word that John was out of surgery and settled into intensive care. He'd not woken up yet and the next few hours would be crucial. Sarah asked me to go check up on him; it was as if she didn't believe the words of the surgeon.

I stepped into the dark intensive care unit. The crisp, recycled air nipped at my bare arms as I followed the nurse to John's bed. He was a tangle of wires and tubes. His eyes were firmly closed; I had to grasp onto his hand to be certain that he was still alive. I could see blood seeping slowly through the dressing on his chest.

'I should have been there.' I whispered to him. 'You have to wake up; you'll destroy Sherlock otherwise. He'll blame himself.' I bent gingerly over the tubes and kissed him 'I love you John.' I waited with him a while longer; watching the machines quietly beep and chime. He would be in so much pain when he woke up. At least there wouldn't be back news to break to him.

I returned to Sarah with the intention of staying the night but once I gave her the news I was kicked out by the night nurse. I kicked up a fuss; probably not my best mood however it did put a smile on Sarah's face to see me shouting at the frog-like woman.

I instinctively headed home to Baker Street without thinking of Sherlock's request. Mrs Hudson was beside herself with worry when I clambered inside a little after eleven. Sherlock had not been back but Mycroft had come looking for him. He answered the phone by the time I'd reached the top of the stairs.

'How is John Miss Doyle?' He asked instantly.

'Stable.' I notice the blood on the floor and wonder if the police have been so I could clean it before Sherlock returned. I sat down on the floor beside the pool; hypnotised by it.

'My brother?' He questioned.

'Anything but.' I answer honestly with a sigh. 'Could you not find him a case abroad for a while?'

'Are you board of him already?' He mocked me and my blood began to boil.

'He's a powder keg; I want him as far away from this as possible. I want to protect him and deal with it myself.'

'Miss Doyle, the last thing my brother would do is leave you to face Moriarty alone. I might add that I would share his sentiments. Don't mess with Moriarty's agenda Miss Doyle; as you've seen from tonight his target is not initially you.' The line went dead.

'Bastard!' I roared down the disconnected phone.

'I told you to go to Sarah's!' Sherlock's voice made me scream. 'What are you doing here?' He asked me coldly.

'Sarah and John's keys were left here in all the confusion. Sarah's been kept in overnight; I convinced her to get checked over. The baby seems to be fine.' I refuse to move my gaze from the pool of congealed blood. 'Did you-'

'Got him!' He cut me off in such a way that had my stomach in knots.

'Was he one of Moriarty's? Did you find out what he'd taken? I can look for you-' I got up and went to the piles of papers.

'I know what it is he took. I have it back.' He was cold; cruel and unfriendly. 'I need to stay in your apartment tonight.' He was sat on his chair staring into the unlit fire.

'I don't have an apartment. I have a study!' I feel rejected, angry and ashamed. How did I think that this man was capable of a partnership? I'd not asked him to let me in. I wanted a bedroom downstairs but he'd insisted that I'd never need it. How foolish I now felt; stood there before him being banished.

'Sam,' He spat. 'You understand what I'm trying to say. I need to be alone-'

'There are nicer ways to do it though Sherlock.' I stood there, staring at him. Hoping that he'd apologise; I knew he wouldn't be using the bed. 'Are you serious about this?' I ask.

'Yes. I told you to stay at Sarah's-'Sherlock pinched the bridge of his nose. I knew I was frustrating him and I didn't care.

'I know I heard you! Ever think I wanted the comfort of my own home?' I shouted the tears I was holding back were stinging my eyes.

'Sam; I'm not your home. Not tonight, not now. Please just go away.'

I did what I was told. I crept downstairs to the basement; I knew I wouldn't sleep now. I fished out my Ipod from the desk drawer, shoved the headphones into my ears, sat in my chair and sobbed.

_**AN: I know this is quite harsh of Sherlock, but he's trying to deal with his emotions and he doesn't want Sam to see. Don't worry; she won't be forgiving him easily.**_


	25. Build God, Then We'll Talk

_**I'm so sorry that there has been so much time between updates.**_

_**Thank you all once again for your reviews, alerts and favourites. I have such amazing, loyal fans and I'm ever grateful. **_

_**Enjoy**_

_Chapter Twenty Five: Build God, Then We'll Talk_

The first thing I felt when I woke up was shame. That sort of shame someone feels when they're completing the walk of shame in a slutty fancy dress outfit at noon on All Saints' Day. There I was curled up like a cat on my comfy chair in my basement study. I'd let this man into my life and into my heart and in one night he'd managed to pull the rug from under me.

I uncurled my legs from under me and felt a flash of pain as I released my clenched leg muscles. My eyes felt like they were glued together; I dug out the tears that had dried on my tender eyes between 3am and my exhaustion.

I wondered what kind of night Sherlock would have had upstairs and left to his own devices. He'd had his escape from the recent events and now I wanted mine. I checked my watch and cursed when I saw the time. Nine thirty; damn it! At least three hours before it was acceptable to order tequila in a bar. At least twelve hours before it was acceptable to order it alone.

I paced my floor while I entertained the idea of buying a bottle from the supermarket. I decided there were no flaws in this plan; I could drink my fill and avoid all human contact for the next few days. I'd pass out and perhaps have an idea of what I could do about Sherlock once I'd awoken. It would cause no harm to anyone.

After finding something clean to wear out of my 'getaway' bag I cambered into the shower. It smelt musty; it had not been used in an awfully long time. I wash my body and hair with a fresh block of soap I found in the cabinet. It leaves my skin feeling tight, dry and begging for its usual routine.

With my eyes stinging I made my treacherous escape from the shower and dried myself off with unfamiliar towels. I throw on the clothes that I judged to be acceptable over my frame and make my way back into the main room of the apartment. Using the last of the battery on my phone I rang Sarah for an update; she was due for a release within the hour and would be heading straight to see John. When I'm done I turn off my phone with no intention of turning my phone back on for at least three days. If I was to turn it back on at all.

This was my preparation for my withdrawal from the world; no contact with anyone and drinking to oblivion. That's what I did when my parents were killed; I began renting out the flat, I destroyed all lines of communication with the world and shots of tequila until I passed out.

I pull my feet into my shabby converse and make my way outside. Every person I pass increases my need for human contact. I had needed someone last night. I had needed Sherlock to comfort me. I was so used to being strong but I'd hoped that this one time; he'd have allowed me to fall apart.

I skirted through the chiller section of the supermarket to get to the alcohol. While tequila was my preference I settled on a large bottle of dark rum. I retrieved a bag of ice from the freezer, along with a tub of ice cream. I wanted it to see like it was casual purchases. The woman behind the counter seemed soulless as she passed my items over the counter.

I didn't speak. I didn't say hello, excuse me or even thank you; Nothing. All of a sudden I was that invisible girl again. How had I lived like this? I was I going to live like this again? I used to go days without any form of conversation; my vocal chords used for anything more than my orders in the tea shop. I'd never minded before Sherlock existed in my life. Now the very thought was sending a panic attack my direction.

I was inside Baker Street and up the stair before I remembered that I'd been banished. Sod it, I thought, he'd be gone for the day and I'd either be in a drunken stupor or hidden away downstairs by then.

I dropped the contents of the bag on the table before retrieving a glass from the side. I filled it with ice and topped it up with rum. I'd purposely not bought anything to mix it; it would have only slowed the process. I should have left then. Perhaps I wouldn't have put myself in so much danger if I had just crept down to curl up on my chair with my drink. With a glug of chilled liquid in my unsteady hand I rifled through our now mingled collection of books until I found my go to book for when I was in a bad mood. I curled up on the chair nearest the fire; the drink never leaving my hand.

I flicked through my worn copy until I found my favourite part; it was one of very few books we both enjoyed. He loved the tone and perfect grammar; I loved the humour and the Britishness. I thought back to one of our first nights together once all my things had been moved in. He'd stumbled upon my copy and his quirky smile spread across his face as he inspected the broken spine. We proceeded to quote the saga into the early hours.

'Time is an illusion. Lunchtime doubly so.' I whispered into the void; our agreed favourite quote from the saga. I threw the book down in anger; why did he have to ruin everything? I drained my glass; the ice attacked my dry top lip.

As I raised myself from my seat to refill my glass I saw it. There resting on the coffee table was his escape. I snarled at the offending object as I ventured into the kitchen area. I'd still not placed the ice cream or ice cubes in the freezer. I didn't care. I topped up my glass with rum and returned to the chair.

I'd not minded Sherlock's dabble with drugs. That was, of course, until he picked them over me. Where would something like that end? Would he eventually see more benefits in having Molly than me? I knew he'd flirt with her to get what he wanted. It had never bothered me before now; now she was responsible for a high I could never give him.

My mind was overwhelmed with reasons for why he needed the substance. Too many to make sense of as the rum took effect and dulled my senses. What could it do that I could not provide? I'd drained my glass and I was out of my seat; but I did not head to the kitchen. I found myself on my knees before the infamous morphine tin. It now lay open before me and my thumb was brushing the strap he would have used last night.

I'd not even tried smoking so the only experience I could compare it to was the one that was coursing through my body at this very moment. That wasn't good enough. Without thinking I strapped up my left arm, pulled out a clean needle and loaded it with the clear solution.

It would have been at this time that I would have gotten a phone call that would have brought me to my senses. Except my phone was off and the call was directed straight to voicemail, while I remained blissfully ignorant.

Finding a vein was easy. Building up the courage to plunge the sharp object into my arm, however, was far from easy. I had butchered my arm by the time I hit a vein that would allow me to depress the plunger.

Before I'd even removed the strap that was keeping the morphine from entering the rest of my body I knew I'd made a mistake that I could not take back. I'd misjudged the dose, or It was about to react with the alcohol in my system. Something was wrong.

I pulled off the tie and allowed myself to fall backwards as it rushed to my heart. I was in trouble and if he didn't find me soon; he'd be blaming himself for the rest of his life.


	26. Mad as Rabbits

_**So... this is my longest chapter ever written for WTDMTN and I just hope you like it. :D (I'm exhausted and emotionally drained. I am aware that my two injured characters may not talk as much as they do in this chapter... but it is fiction and I'm using artistic licence in order to use them to my advantage. I hope that's ok?)**_

_**Thank you once again for all your reviews. My ever faithful C'estMoiLiz, CrazyLara, Hobbit Babe and EmpressOfCookieMonster... I love you all and I'm so happy you're still reviewing and inspiring me.**_

_**Thank you to klutzygal 12 and LadyDerethia... you're reviews mean a lot to me and I'm so happy that you're reading and enjoying the story unfold.**_

_**I think there's about 7-10 chapters left as I've begun to draft out the final moves of our major characters. I've got a holiday coming up in the next week; I'm hoping that I'll be able to return to daily updates in time for the final chapters.**_

_**This chapter may need further editing, but as I can't actually see the screen... I think it's time for me to go to bed. :D**_

_**Enjoy**_

_Chapter Twenty Six: Mad as Rabbits_

'Sherlock, are you ok?' Sarah asked me as she discovered me wandering the halls of the hospital. I knew where I wanted to go; I was just not trying very hard to get there. My head was still dull from the after effects of my drug abuse and lack of sleep.

'I came to check up on John.' I mumbled, hoping she wasn't going to comment upon my blood shot eyes. Even with a dose of morphine I was unable to find any comfort. I'd crept down to the basement in the early hours to retrieve what I truly needed in order to rest, but I returned empty handed. I'd wanted to protect Sam; I'd wanted to take her in my arms and know she was safe. I'd needed to break down and tell her how truly scared I was that my best friend was in intensive care fighting for his life. Instead, I'd pulled away from her, abandoning her in her hour of need. 'How is he?' I questioned, drawing myself away from the basement door and back into the present.

'I'm not sure, I've only just been released.' She explained to me with a weak smile. I check my watch; just past noon. 'Why don't we go and see him together?' She offered and I nodded clumsily.

'How's the baby?' I asked as I offered my arm; just as I'd seen John do for both Sarah and Sam in the past. Yet Sarah looked at my arm as if it were wrapped in barbed wire. After a moment's pause she took my arm and we began walking along the corridor at a steady pace.

'The baby's ok! I was just freaking out. I must have scared Sam so much. Did she get home ok? She wanted to stay here, but they kicked her out. She put up a good fight.' I fell silent as Sarah spoke. She paused when I failed to answer. 'She did get home didn't she?'

'Yes, sorry, yes she was asleep by the time I got home last night.' I lied. I stalled as we reached the doors to the intensive care. As soon as Sarah was inside I dialled Sam's number. It went straight to voicemail without so much as a single ring. 'Sam, please be home tonight; we need to talk.' I mentally tell her I was sorry as I disconnect the call. I know it's not something she wants to hear so I leave it be.

I turned my phone off before entering the ward. The neutral smell hit me first; recycled air. There was something unnatural about the circulating air that abused all of my senses; it was neither hot nor cold; but it still brought a flash of bumps to my arms. It clung and it licked at my skin and I wondered if I'd even shake the feeling of death lapping at my soul.

John was awake but dosed up with my old friend, but current enemy. I took a second to dart my eyes around his bay in order to locate his supply of morphine. During our conversation I would pocket it; my supply was running low. Sarah was looking over John's charts by the time he'd noticed my presence.

'Hullo Sherly!' He bumbled and I'd cringed; I certainly hoped that wasn't a name that was going to stick. 'I'm afraid ol' Moriarty's got the best of me now. Hehehe meow! No running on the play ground fighting over toys no more.' He giggled hysterically before closing his eyes.

'They've had to remove part of his left lung.' She explained to me in a hushed tone before checking his IV drip. 'They'll have him on morphine for the next few days.'

'He always slowed me down anyway.' I laugh despite myself. How was he going to cope with this blow to his confidence? My action man; he always loves to feel like he's unaffected by his leg. Now there was no escape. Would he become bitter toward me? Could he still be my friend while I reminded him of all that he could not do? I wanted Sam by my side to reassure me that I'd not lost a friend to Moriarty. This could be worse than death; still on this earth but unable to be in the same room as me. This was nothing I could do to change it; I could only wait and see.

'Lucky you got your gorgeous ghost to keep up with you.' He smiled at me with his eyes closed. 'She's my sister. Not really; but she totally is my sister. She's my Luke and I'm her Leia; but not in a gold -' He rambled before his eyes shot open. 'Ooooo Sarah, do you think they'll put Star Wars on that blasted TV?' He pointed to the TV that was sat dormant in the corner. 'Sarah, Can we call our baby-' He continued to ramble but Sarah placed her hand over his mouth. I watched his glazed eyes focus in on Sarah.

'I love you John Watson, but there is no way on earth we are naming our child after a character from a galaxy far far away!' She replaced her hand with her lips before he could protest and I wondered if I should leave and give them some space.

'Marry me?' John blurted after she pulled away. His voice was strained and raspy; adapting to the new lung capacity, 'I know it's not the most romantic way-' I began to creep away. '-Don't you bloody move. You need to see how it's not done for when you propose to Sam.' He didn't even look away from Sarah but I still freeze. 'Sarah Telford. You are the love of my life and I cannot think of a better way to tell the world that to have a proper full on wedding, put him in a daft penguin suit, and get a ring on your finger. Added bonus is we'll see him in his idea of hell. Will you marry me?'

I briefly wonder if my mention within his proposal would come back to haunt him but Sarah screams yes in such a high pitch that it irritates my inner ear and alerts flurry of nurses who come to John's bedside. She mumbles an apology before excusing herself to make a number of calls.

'You shouldn't have been there. I thought you were staying at Sarah's?' I insist once she'd left the ward and the nurses had returned to their stations.

'I was getting the bloody ring wasn't I?' John winced as he defended himself. 'What was the dick after anyway?'

'He took everything I had on Arthur Doyle. Bloody bastard burnt it when he was caught. He was scared to go to Moriarty until he knew you were safe. He got caught in a strip club down town.' I tell him, much to his shock and amusement.

'You tell Sam what was taken?'

'We haven't spoken.' I refuse to look him in the eye.

'You idiot; what did you do now? Ah hell, you pillock, prat, penis headed pelican.' He began to go red in anger.

'Are you done? The alliteration is quite annoying.' I hiss.

'Are you going to marry her?' He stars at me and I start to feel uncomfortable. It was such a random leap to go from not talking to marriage; strange man.

'I don't think she wants that John.' I explain. I'm not really sure. We've not really spoken about things like that. She didn't seem like she was a typical relationship person. Part of me always thought that she is just grateful for whatever I could offer. Although I'm sure there is a part of her that would want the white dress and the public declaration.

'Well what do you want?' He pulls me from my thoughts.

'I'm a man of science, not God, John. That said I simply want her by my side, as an equal who is unafraid to tell me I'm wrong. I'd happy wake up beside her for the rest of my life.'

'Then stop with the drugs every time you come across something that is out of your control! She wants to support you; and she's a lot stronger than you give her credit for.' He takes a shallow breath, and even that caused him pain. 'I'm moving out Sherlock. I need to know that you'll be ok; and that's only going to happen if you stop pushing her away.'

'I'll try.' I mumbled as Sarah returned. 'I need to see Molly-' I began to excuse myself, ignoring the dirty look that John threw me. I know if was the wrong name to throw out considering the conversation we'd just had. I know he wanted to hear that I was off to see Sam; but there was something I had to do first. 'I will see you soon. Congratulations to you both.'

'Wait Sherlock.' Sarah caught up with me before I'd gotten to the door. 'I couldn't get through to Sam; can you get her to call me when you see her?'

'Of course I will.' I kiss her cheek as I would Mrs Hudson; she was my friend now and I needed a way to show her that.

An hour later I had a jar with a pickled brain inside clamped proudly under my arm. Despite John's lecture I still had the vial of morphine nestled in my inner pocket. I opened the door to 221b and was greeted by my ever giving land lady.

'Evening Mrs Hudson; any visitors today?' I dispose of my coat and scarf on the hook, juggling the jar as I go. I casually pat my jacket to ensure that the morphine is with me and not abandoned in my coat. That reminded me; Sam will probably not be too happy that I've left evidence of last night's activity on the coffee table. I really should learn not to leave things out.

'A man your age popped by not too long ago to see if you were about. I thought you were in so I sent him right on up. Came right back down saying he'd catch you on the phone instead.'

I thank her for the news and turn on my phone while walking up the stairs. I pause halfway up as the screen loads and I'm alerted to a new message:

ARE YOU REALLY GOING TO LEAVE HER TO DIE?

I race up the remainder of the stairs and wish my stomach was not in knots. While the events that unfolded yesterday should have led me down to the basement, my instincts were telling me she was up here. Taking the stairs two at a time I'm at my door in seconds. I swing the door open and my blood runs cold.

Sam is sprawled stiffly across the floor. I'm at her side in an instant. She'd still breathing; which is good and I relax a little. Had Moriaty done this to her? I look to her left arm and I gain my answer; a dozen attempts to implant the needle are ingrained into the fold of her arm. If it had been Moriarty; there would not have been so much as a puncher wound.

'You silly stupid girl.' I mutter as I feel her pulse. Slower than I'd like; but it's there. 'Why?' I roar at her unresponsive body. I knew why; she wanted to understand me. She wanted to empathise with the man who showed no emotion. She couldn't ask me; because I wasn't there. Damn, you're a fool! I'd closed myself off and pushed her away.

I opened her eyelid and her pupils are so small they're were almost non existent. I needed John; I was falling apart here. I wiped the beads of sweat that were forming on my forehead away. I needed John.

John!

I get to my feet instantly and I'm inside John's bedroom almost as quickly. The man knew that I could one day over dose and I was betting he'd at least have activated charcoal if no naloxone in his medical supplies reserved for use on me.

It takes me longer than I expected but within five minutes I find his medical bag. Hero, legend, life saver; inside his bag is indeed charcoal and the known antidote for morphine. I was back at her side hoping I was giving her the right dosage to counteract the morphine.

Only when I felt her body relax at my side did I scoop her up off the floor and take her into the bedroom. I placed her on top of the covers and wait until I know she's ok before I move out of the room.

My first job was to dispose of the two vials of morphine that I had in my possession down the drain in the kitchen. Highly dangerous as it would now enter the water system of London; but it would do far less damage that remaining in this house. I disposed of the items on the table; the melting ice required the washing bowel to save it from the floor and the ice cream went into the freezer. Some of the rum, however, was dispensed into a glass before being hidden away in a cupboard. I downed the glass as I waited for the kettle to boil; making a cup of tea ready for my vigil at Sam's side.

It had gone three in the morning, almost twelve hours since I'd discovered her, when she had began to stir from her slumber. Mycroft had rang insisting that he needed to see me followed by Lestrade who had a body that was blind siding him. I rudely reminded them that I should have still been at the cottage before disconnecting them. After the second call I turned my phone off. John was safe and with Sarah and I was with the one human being I needed to be with. I was not leaving her side.

Sat beside the bed; I tried to ignore the fact that Moriarty had been here, had seen her lying there yet did nothing. I couldn't shake the question. Why had he asked? He knew she'd survive. He had plans for her. He had plans for me.

Her eyes fluttered open and she clutched her head in pain. I was on the bed in a second, easing her gently into a seated position before passing her a glass of water that I had placed on the bedside earlier.

'Drink up, you'll be dehydrated.' I insist. 'You really should have had an IV drip but I didn't want to take you to hospital. I didn't want people to ask questions.' I brush back her damp hair.

'I wasn't trying to-' She begins to explain that she wasn't trying to kill herself.

'I know. Of course I know that Sam.' I whisper before placing a soft kiss upon her clammy forehead. I watch her gulp at the water for a moment; her glazed eyes never leaving my face. She pulls the empty glass away and she'd breathless.

'I know that you needed time to yourself. I tried to stay at the hospital. I would have explained last night but you-' She was getting herself wound up. Her heart would not be able to take it if she continued.

'I know.' I soothed. I take in her soft, vulnerable beauty before I ask the question that could put an angry edge on her face. 'I think-' I paused. 'I'm confident I know why, but humour me; why did you inject yourself?'

'I wanted to justify what you did. Why you sent me away last night. I wanted a rational, logical reason for your need to escape from everything.' She refuses to look at me so I pull her chin up so she has no choice but to look me in the eye.

'None of my actions could be justified if it led to your death Sam.' I tell her softly, but firmly. 'Dr Yeildings is going to have a field day over this.' I laugh a little. 'Did it help?'

'Not at all.' She raked her hands through her hair. Her eyes closed and she sighed deeply. 'I don't think I can be with you anymore; if it means competing I can't do it Sherlock.' She sobbed.

'Good job you don't have to compete then.' I smiled. 'I've gotten rid. It's going to be a tough few weeks while I withdraw, but I'm going to try and not use it anymore.' I couldn't promise and I knew she didn't want me to.

'You don't have to. I'm not-' She began and I pulled her to look into my eyes once more. A little more force this time; she was not going to be negative about the woman I loved.

'You are worth it! You're worth a thousand everythings. The least I can do is compromise.' _Tell her. Use the words; just bloody tell her. It's not that hard._ But it is; the words stick in my throat and I begin to force them out; I just feel like she needs to hear it, 'Sam I-' I feel her hand on my mouth; strangling the words that are trying to escape.

'I know.' She throws me a weak yet inviting smile. 'I've always known. You don't have to say anything' She kissed me softly and I melt into her knowing that she understood my feelings without me having to express them in a conventional way.


	27. We're So Starving

**A/N: I am so sorry about the delay. Things happened, and then things got worse. Now I feel like I'm on calm waters again. This chapter has been hell to write and has been through so many evolutions. (My note book is looking rather anorexic because of the discarded edits that frustrating found themselves on the floor)**

**I do believe there is no more than four or five chapters left.**

**Please enjoy.**

_Chapter Twenty-Seven: We're So Starving_

I was waiting.

It's all I had done for the last four months and I'm become pretty good at it. I was waiting for the publishing and release date for Sherlock's novel. It was currently being proof read and edited by Ms Routledge apparently. I hope she wasn't going to change too much. Words were placed and used for specific reasons. Sherlock wasn't bothered in the slightest, but every morning I would slip down those seventeen steps to discover that the proof copy had yet to arrive.

I was waiting for John to fully recover. Not just the physical wound, but his mental state as well. He had been avoiding Sherlock but thankfully He'd returned to counselling in the last few weeks and their relationship seemed to be back on track. Sherlock was trying his best not to emphasise the fact that John was incapable of joining him anymore.

I was waiting for news about Moriarty; his location, his intention and his motivation. I was close, I knew that much.

Right now I should have been waiting for Sarah to get ready for her hen do. Covering her plump belly with dressy maternity clothes after a calm and relaxing day at a spa in Bath; she'd booked tickets to a fancy restaurant and to the comedy club nearby. Not exactly the pub crawl a hen should expect; however she was almost five months pregnant.

Except, I'd lied to everyone, I was currently at the airport waiting for my boarding call. I was going to be found out. Of course I was. But at least I would be in the air when Sarah and Sherlock realised that they had been conned. I would have put my plan in action, and half way to my goal.

Or so I thought!

I was tipping brown sugar aimlessly into my coffee, watching it float on the surface until its own weight dragged it below the frothy barrier, when I felt a presence behind me.

'You're meant to be at a hen do!' The voice washed over me with distinct disapproval. 'Miss Doyle, do you not recall me telling you that my brother was not going to let you out of his sight?' Mycroft filled the seat opposite me, coffee in hand. A few people looked in our direction; recognising him. I hope there were no paparazzi here to gain a photo for the politics section of their paper.

'You're supposed to be in New York!' I reply, shifting in my seat uncomfortably. I stirred the sugar into my coffee and downed half in a long gulp.

'Touche!' He answered simply with a crooked smile that his brother could pull of much more effectively.

'I have someone I need to see. They have information-' I began, my voice raising in an effort to convey confidence.

'Have you had it verified?' He cut me off before taking a sip of his coffee. I remained silence, willing my cheeks not to flame up in embarrassment. Damn him being more perceptive that Sherlock. 'Of course you didn't. You were more concerned with planning this around Miss Telford's hen do so Sherlock didn't find out and pick holes in your plan.'

'I want to protect him is all!' I flare. Although he's partly right; I'd hired a private investigator to gather intelligence about Moriarty. I was hoping he'd come back with a location. He came back with much more.

'Let me guess; you've been told that his mother is alive and in Holland waiting to answer all of your questions?' He stares me down like my father once did when I'd arrived home late with a botched excuse. Dad didn't believe me then and Mycroft didn't believe something this simple would fool me into leaving the country either. Except, it had; I was so desperate for news I clung on to it like a life raft. Only now, when Mycroft repeated it with his condescending tone did I realise how stupid it sounded.

'Why is that so hard to believe?' I tried to keep my composure.

'One; the man's a psychopath. The chances of his mother not dying by his hands are so remote the very thought makes me laugh. Second; we can't find any record of his birth certificate. I have someone working on that very problem as we speak.'

'You're working on it?' I question.

'Of course I am Miss Doyle. I have been since the very moment you stepped into my brother's life. Now, while we are here, we might as well set things in motion.' He pushes a boarding pass in my direction and I look at the destination printed upon the ticket. 'I have a conference tomorrow afternoon in Paris. You might as well join me. You're disappearance may confuse Moriarty and bring him out of hiding.'

'You're rather nice-' I say with a wry smile, '-for a Politian.' He laughs deeply at this.

'So you won't complain at me being your brother-in-law?' He spoke softly from behind his cup.

'You'll always be family to me Mycroft, but I very much doubt that we'll ever be married.' I gulp down more coffee, wondering if there is something he knows that I don't.

'Family,' he agrees with the raise of his cup, 'although I would feel better if you two were married.'

'Surly you share his philosophy; you understand why he won't marry?' I asked hoping that he would have a better insight into Sherlock's mind than I did. I try to read his face, but it's blank.

'Who says he doesn't want to offer you protection? You will outlive my brother Miss Doyle-'

'You know you can call me Sam?' I offer.

'Not when I don't wish to enable your pretence Catherine.' His voice filled will disapproval once more. Well fell into an awkward silence; each sipping at the dregs of our coffee. I could feel the bitter husks of the coffee granules float over my tongue as I drained my cup.

'Do you wish you were married Mycroft?' I asked hugging myself in preparation of the backlash this question may cause.

'It's not practical for me. The time has been and gone for that happiness.' As he spoke he looked through me as if I were a ghost. It chilled me to my very soul.

'She left you for someone else? Or did they never return your feelings.' I knew I was intruding, but when would I ever have this chance for such a candid conversation with him.

'Oh, it's nowhere near that simple. Love very rarely is.' He paused a moment, contemplating how much he should tell me. 'We were both in university together. Knowing I intended to follow a life in the public eye; our relationship was always clandestine. It also always had an agreed expiry date. Except, when I got close to that time, I'd grown attached; I was in love and I didn't want to let go.'

'I don't see the problem. She was at the same university so surly she was socially acceptable as your partner. All you had to do was tell her. Surly she loved you back?' I asked, engrossed in his story. I imagined Mycroft having a more romantic flare that Sherlock had. Such a shame he had to keep it restrained through secrecy.

'They did. However, we would have to be married.' He uttered. 'Both of us were heading in directions that required us to be socially appropriate; we had to conform.'

'I don't understand. Did she not want to get married?' I asked, not seeing the wood for the trees.

'Miss Doyle, she had a penis.' He watched me try and figure it out for a moment; I was failing to do so. 'She was a he. I will conform by being an eternal bachelor. I will not throw up a mask like yourself and-' He cut himself off before he compromised himself. However, that was too late.

'Lestrade.' I finished for him, meeting his pained eyes. 'Does Sherlock know?'

'That I'm gay or that my heart was stolen?' He paused. 'No he doesn't know that's why he's our messenger. He loves his wife and children; I won't destroy that for anything. That's how he's chosen to live his life and I respect that.'

'You're a good man Mycroft.' I declared as they declared out departure gate open. I looked at him with a new found respect and honour.

I felt proud to call him family. I allowed him to lead the way, not knowing that within twenty four hours; he would be lying dead on a cold bathroom floor in the grandest hotel in Paris.


	28. Folkin' Around

**A/N: Thank you SimMagnet for your review. I'm glad you're liking my story. The next few chapters will be quite Moriarty central. :D**

**Thank you to everyone who has reviewed and those who've placed this story on their watch list and favourites... you have no idea what this means to me.**

**I really hope you like this chapter...**

**Enjoy**

_Chapter Twenty-Eight: Folkin' Around_

'Damn my lungs Sherlock!' John exploded as I tried to explain why I'd come to see him. It was out of character for me to go see him. However, I was lonely and I wanted someone to talk to. 'I can make it out of the apartment to see you! I've been back in work for three weeks now.' He'd made his mark at Sarah's apartment; His laptop lay dormant on the countertop and his favourite mugs where littered beside the sink. His music was playing softly in the background; the TV was on a news channel on mute. 'I'm sick of being careful. I wasn't an invalid with my battle scars; why would I be now?'

I watched as he calmed the blush of anger from his face. It was true; people of late were wrapping him up in cotton wool. Even I was guilty of that. John Watson was adaptable; I had to remember that. He might not be able to get me out of scraps and run after bad guys; it didn't stop him from being my right hand man from time to time.

'How about you come with me to see Molly in morning when I go check up on a case?' I tempt him and I see it has worked; he straightened up in his chair and allows the tops of his ears to turn pink. 'No Sarah, no Sam; No one to tell you to be careful.' I smile hopefully at him and he smiles back. 'I'll meet you there at noon?'

'You're not planning on going at even and leaving me there like a tool?' He eyed me suspiciously.

'I'll only leave you there if something comes up last minute.' I insist forcefully. He smiles. 'Now how are your wedding plans? Do you want me to arrange a stag do?' I try to keep my face unreadable but inside I was churning. How does one go about planning a stag do when the very thought made me ill.

'The only thing that you need to do is pick up your suit. No stag, nothing else. I just want to marry the woman of my dreams. Any word on your novel?'

'I recalled it because I wanted to make a few changes; don't tell Sam.' I explain with a cryptic smile. I'd put a plan in motion that I was not prepared to reveal just yet.

'Four months without a hiccup; I'm proud of you.' John slapped me on the shoulder as he ventured into the kitchen for another cup of tea. 'How is she in the field?'

'She is amazing; obviously not in the same sense as you. She has the people skills I sometimes lack.' I joined him in the kitchen as the kettle began to boil. 'Sam and Donovan get on well now. Anderson ended things with her and –'

'Sam did what any woman would? I think Donovan has been spending quite a lot of time with Sarah and Sam; I'm sure she's gone to Bath with them.'

'Interesting.' I sunk back onto the countertop.

'What?' John asked as he finished making both cups. I was deep in thought, compartmentalising what Sam had said.

'Sam phoned me when they arrived, she didn't mention Donovan being there. In fact she said it was just her and Sarah.'

'No, there are at least five of them.' John informed me with hesitation. Why would Sam lie to me? I drank my new cup of tea to be polite and left not long after. I had some things to arrange before the morning.

I arrived back at Baker Street an hour later and Lestrade was there waiting for me; reading through one of my books.

'Any news?' I asked it, dispensing with pleasantries.

'Nothing; he's like a ghost. I'm worried. This usually means he's planning something big and intricate; something that requires solving.' Lestrade placed the book back where he found it before masticating his thumb nail.

'He does have a flare for the dramatic; but it's beginning to bore me.' I picked up my violin.

'Your brother is tracking down his birth certificate. He said he would tell you first if he finds anything, so would you get in touch-'

'You'll be the first to know.' I plucked at the strings absent mindedly; producing nothing of any musical value as my thoughts processed. 'How do you know this; have you two finally out grown your political feud?'

'I- I asked him to. I have a theory that he was born outside of the UK and that's where he keeps hiding.' He explained with a bashful tone.

'Fancy a nightcap?' I ask, putting down the violin and entering the kitchen.

'Knowing your idea of a nightcap? No thank you.' He made for the door.

'I've been clean for a month. I made a choice; I chose Sam.' I intone and he pauses.

'Good man. Shame you didn't make that choice before she overdosed though!' He reprimands me. 'If anything would have happened to her; you know I would have killed you right?'

'How did you-' I began to ask. I thought we'd been careful; Sam insisted that no one knew what happened. She told me she had no intention of telling her therapist therefore we were to pretend it hadn't happened.

'Your brother contacted me. Moriarty had left him a message that day; I staked out your place that night. He wanted someone to be there for you. When you never left or contacted anyone for emergency services. I knew you were ok.' He explained with a tired smile.

'Thank you.' I uttered solemnly.

'Look, I'm a couple of men down this weekend; so pop by in the afternoon and let me know what you find.' Lestrade left me alone in my apartment.

I was woken up at ten by the bleeping alert that informed me there was a text on my phone. For the first time since Sam moved in, I had fallen asleep on the sofa. I stretched out all the kinks and clicks from my body before reaching for my phone:

_I've had a fight with Sarah and come home. Meet me in the tea shop- one hour! X_

Why didn't she just come home? I roughed up my hair as I quickly stepped into the shower, dressed just as quickly and made my way to the tea shop. I could be there, collect Sam, and still meet John on time.

I was expecting her to be sat in her usual seat when I arrived, but there was no sign. I ordered my drink and tried to ignore the feeling that something was wrong. I sat in her seat; facing away from the door and all of the customers in the shop. I'd downed my drink and ordered another and there was still no sign. Perhaps she was still on the train and had text while she was on her way back from Bath.

My phone began to ring; noon! Damn, It'd stood him up.

'Sorry John-' I began to explain but he instantly cut me off.

'Listen to me. Sam didn't-'

'-I know, she's come home. She's meeting me-' I gulped down my tea that was brought over by the familiar guy behind the counter.

'-No Sherlock, she never arrived She told them she'd get the next train because she had to pick something up. Sherlock, she never arrived. Sarah's worried.' He explained to me. 'We've both tried ringing her phone but it's off.'

'But Sam phone when she-' I was confused; where had she been? What was with the phone call? 'Well, wherever she's been, she's meeting me here. I'll get her to ring Sarah.'

'Thank you.' John ended the call and I returned to my drink. There was something different about the peppermint tea they'd brought me. I looked to the tab of the bag; still the same make. I shrugged off yet another unsettling feeling and sipped at my tea before my phone rang again.

'Hello brother.' I droned and acknowledged the caller that appeared on my display.

'Listen to me carefully. I haven't got long.' His voice was shaken and full of panic. 'I've found out why he wants Miss Doyle.'

'Why are you whispering?'

'Because Miss Doyle is in the next room and I don't know if I should tell her.' He explained to me and my heart began to race. Mycroft was meant to be in New York.

'Paris.' He hissed once more and my blood ran cold. If she was in Paris, who was I meeting? 'She was given false information. She never intended to go to the hen do; she was going to locate Moriarty. However, I intercepted her and brought her to France with me. She's safe; for the moment.'

'What is it-' My sense were dull and I felt heavy. I inspected my empty cup; what was that underlying taste that the peppermint could not hide. I felt my heart begin to slow despite itself. My eyes arms felt as if my blood had been replaced with lead. Had I been poisoned?

'Sherlock Miss Doyle-'

I didn't find out; the world went black as the drug that had laced my drink took hold. What I didn't know was that I would never have found out anyway; my brother didn't get to finish his sentence. The revelation that would make sense of everything would forever be poised on his tongue.


	29. London Beckoned

**A/N: Twice in one day... you are very lucky people. I hope you like where this is going and that I'm not being too cliqued.**

**Please review and let me know what you think.**

**Thank you TheDoctorMistress for your review. Hope you like it...**

**C'estMoiLiz, CrazyLara and Hobbit Babe; I hope you're well? I really miss your reviews :D**

**Enjoy...**

_Chapter Twenty-Nine: London Beckoned Songs About Money Written By Machines_

My head was slow to kick start when I awoke. The bed I was curled up in was amazing; the perks of joining my boyfriend's brother in Paris. However, I did not know how I'd gotten there. The problem with the perk; he'd not judged as I'd downed ridiculous amounts of spirits last night. He just sat opposite me and made polite conversation and ordering me another when my glass ran dry. Since my mishap, Sherlock would eye me suspiciously if I had more than one glass of wine.

Stretching out under the crisp covers I felt for my phone; it was about time I turned it on and faced Sherlock's wrath. I'd had a good enough evening to deserve a telling off. Mycroft had made a few phone calls the moment we arrived and an hour later a dress arrived for me to wear. He proceeded to take me to an intimate bar and introduced me to a number of his friends. I saw him smile and laugh; it was nice to see him so open and warm.

My phone was gone!

Perhaps in my drunken state I'd attempted to ring Sherlock and Mycroft had taken it from me? I pulled off the covers and the dress that I was still wearing before pulling on the soft and warm dressing gown that was on the chair. I padded into the main room with in my bare feet to find Mycroft engrossed in the morning paper.

'Why did you let me drink so much?' I curled up on the chair beside him and pulled a Danish from the plate he pushed in my direction.

'Because I've watched my brother keep you on a protected leash for the last few months.' His eyes didn't move from the paper. 'It's one thing for you to lock yourself in a tower. It's another for my brother to do it.'

'It's not his fault. I'm the one who-' I stammered feebly, almost choking on the pastry in my rush to speak.

'overdosed on a drug you've never used before?' He eyed me over the edge of the paper. 'Don't be so hard on yourself Miss Doyle.'

'Did- Did he tell you?' I asked as I poured myself a coffee.

'My brother; tell me that he almost lost the love of his life because of his own stupidity?' He laughed. 'No! Moriarty told me, but I would have worked it out. There could only have been one person to make him go cold turkey; and I knew you'd never ask it of him. It must have been hard for you?'

I shrugged a response.

'Have you seen my phone?' I asked as I rubbed the icing sugar from my hands.

'No, not seen you use it at all; are you sure you brought it?' He asked, putting the paper to one side.

'Yes, I definitely did. I'll go have another look for it in a minute.' I sigh before pulling a blueberry off the plate. 'What are we doing today?'

'I have a meeting, but you are free to do whatever you wish. I've asked for you to have an escort; they'll act as a guide and translator for you.' His phone began to ring. 'Excuse me,' he picked up the call but remained in his seat. As the person spoke her tried to keep his face unreadable; yet that gave more things away. His eyes went dead. 'Understood; thank you.' I knew he wanted to say more and would have done so if I'd not been there.

'What is it?' I asked, finding it difficult to swallow the coffee that remained in my mouth. My stomach had turned to lead and my heart was preparing itself for bad news. 'Mycroft, is it Sherlock?' I could have swore I saw a flash of fear in his eyes before they became unreadable once more.

'Just business my dear; nothing to worry about.' He raised out of his chair and kissed my forehead softly. It was an action that filled me with dread. 'I just have to make a private call.' With that he was gone; leaving my mind racing. It could only be news of Mycroft. What else, if it was not Sherlock, would he feel the need to keep from me?

I stumbled back to the bedroom in search of my phone. Pulling the bedding from the bed it revealed nothing but the imprint of my body from where I'd rested last night. I reached under the pillows once more in the hope that I'd missed it. No luck, however I did come away with a folded sheet of paper:

_Roses are red_

_Sherlock is turning blue_

_Soon he'll be no more than a pile of goo_

'Mycroft!' I shouted, heading back into the main room. 'Someone's been here-' Suddenly I head a soft thud come from the bathroom which Mycroft had entered. It didn't sound like he'd tripped; he hadn't been fighting the fall. I rapped on the door; I didn't want to disturb if it was simply a fall.

'Mycroft? I'm coming in.' I inform him before opening the door. I stepped into the bathroom and into a pool of his tacky, warm and deep crimson blood. A bullet had fatally pierced his heart; I still tried to stem the blood flow. His phone was still in his hand and someone was still on the other end.

'Hello?' I enquired hoping it would be Sherlock, as the display promised me it would be.

'Ello Samantha!' A familiar, confident voice sang viciously.

'Charlie?' I managed to inquire before the phone went dead. I dropped the phone and turned my attention back to Mycroft's lifeless body. 'This isn't fair.' I chocked back a sob, 'I only just stopped hating you!' The bullet had come through the window, probably from the building across the road, and pierced his heart; he never stood a chance.

My only reprieve was that if I hadn't heard the shot; no one else would have either. I looked down to my hands that were covered in blood along with the white dressing gown that was splattered. I had to get out of here; I raked my hands through my hair in frustration. I was trying to work out my next move when the phone rang and startled me. It was an unknown number; but I knew who it was.

'What?' I snarled down the phone.

'I want you to see your boyfriend die! It's not enough that you simply walk in on his lifeless body!' His words were like ice.

'Too bad my passport's down in reception!' I sounded braver than I actually was.

'Don't fuck with my plans Catherine! It's been conveniently placed into your suitcase last night when your phone was taken. You, once again, failed to play by the rules so there must be consequences. You fail to get on the next flight; I'll kill Sarah! I have rifles trained on every single one of your loved ones.'

'What do you want me to do?' I clambered up to my feet and raced to my room in order to change. I pulled on dark jeans and a black t shirt while I waited for him to explain.

'Just get back to England.'

'Where in England?' I asked pulling on my shoes without searching for socks. I'd planned to have a long bath before heading out onto the streets of Paris. How stupid I was to think things would be eventless. My head throbbed.

'Now now, that's all part of the game! It'll be so much fun playing with you!'

'How do I know that you have him?' I asked as I pulled my bag out of my suitcase and found my passport and purse. I put them back securely and fixed the bag over my shoulder. I knew it was a stupid question; of course he had him. The moment Mycroft's heart stopped beating; I knew he'd gotten him. He just laughed down the phone at me. 'Why Mycroft?'

'Naughty boy had been snooping, and it's my secret to tell.' He sounded like a petulant child as he spoke. 'You have twenty minutes to get to the airport Catherine; better get a move on.'


	30. Mercenary

_**I'm so sorry this has taken so long. Things in work are hectic at the moment and I'm looking at a two week turnaround on one chapter (compared to my two chapters a day over the summer- SOB) **_

_**Anyway- I think there'll be two/three more chapters and an epilogue!**_

_**Enjoy**_

_Chapter Thirty- Mercenary_

I couldn't get the image of Mycroft's lifeless body out of my head. Instead it joined that of my mother and father's. The smell of blood lingered on my skin despite rubbing my hands raw before I made my way to the airport.

With my hair tied back and, with my head throbbing, I made my way to the airport. I kept myself calm as I passed bought my ticket and passed through customs. I carefully avoided eye contact with everyone to ensure that I didn't raise suspicious. I kept myself calm on the flight back. All because I had to; Mycroft was dead and my family, my Sherlock, was in danger.

Now I was making my way to Baker Street and I was starting to lose my composure. I sat in the black cab wringing my hands; they'd turned a raw pink but I didn't care. Someone would have discovered the body by now? I certainly wasn't expecting to clear customs in London; I thought the French authorities would have notified Scotland Yard by now.

I stumbled into Baker Street and clambered up the stairs. My responses were completely non-existent and therefore jumped out of my skin at the sight of an equally jittery Lestrade who was pacing before the unlit fire. His broken body turned to me as I entered and his eye bore into my own. I felt his pain.

'It's true?' He asked me; his eyes were red with tears, his tie was undone and his nails were destroyed. I nodded; it was all I could do to keep myself from crying. 'Were you with him?'

'He died instantly; it was a sniper.' I stuttered, stepping closer. 'There was-'

'I know Doyle.' He knew there was nothing I could have done. 'What does he want?'

'The usual: Hello, how've you been? How do you want me to kill your beau if you don't run round my maze? He's got Sherlock!' I explained, it's meaning suddenly dawning on me. 'I'm not going to play his game-'

'-Sherlock could die Doyle!'

'Not if I know how to find them!' I insisted. 'I need a gun!'

'You'll have to get John's; your about to become a fugitive. Something came through for you about an hour ago but I managed to lose it in the system. You have about forty minutes before people come knocking.'

'Can you get John then please?' I asked with a little more bite in my voice than I meant. 'I also need you here.' I scribbled an address on a piece of paper that was lying on the table. 'You and your army Lestrade; Please? I have a hunch. If you don't hear from me; be here.' I jabbed the paper before handing it over. 'At six.'

'Ok!' He placed the paper into his inside pocket. 'Good luck Doyle.' He made to leave.

'Lestrade,' I stopped him. 'He loved you; with all his heart.'

'I know.' Was all he muttered before he left.

I checked my watch before deciding I had enough time to have a shower. I scrubbed my hair until all the blood was gone and the water ran clear. I roughly dried my skin and tied up my hair with it still wet. I climbed into my jeans and pulled on my t shirt; ignoring the fact that then stuck to my skin like cling film.

John was waiting for my when I reappeared in the living room; his gun was lying idle on the table. He caught me looking at it.

'You sure about this?' He asked; not meeting my eyes. I refuse to answer and picked up the gun instead. His hands are on mine before I can even think. 'It's more of a danger to you if you're not prepared to-' In an instant I'd prepared the chamber and fired a round into the wall. 'Ok; but... hey hang on what you doing with it?'

'I'm putting it into my bag?' I replied, shoving the gun into my rucksack.

'Turn around.' He demanded with such force, I felt that I couldn't argue. With my back to him, he began to explain why my bag was not the best place for a firearm. I felt my t shirt being lifted up at the back just before I felt the cool steal bite my back beneath the band of my jeans. 'How does it feel?'

'Good, thank you.' I hug him for a brief second. 'I've just got to get something from my room. I'll walk out with you. Meet me downstairs.'

It took me a little longer than I thought, but I found what I was looking for.

Stowing it away in my bag I made my way down stairs. I froze halfway down when I heard a knock on the front door; I was out of time. John's face was determined and steady; prepared.

He looked to me and in more than a whisper, uttered: 'Basement, now!'

I didn't need telling twice. Without making a sound on the stairs or wasting time on a backwards glance at my hero I descended into the basement. I frantically looked around; wondering why John had sent me down into a trap. I was going deaf as my blood ran through my body and into my ears. I opened the door to my bathroom and noticed the window above the toilet. It was going to be a tight squeeze, but I had no other choice.

Stepping onto the cistern I place the gun momentarily into the bag and shoved it out of the open window. I paused to listen to the noises coming from upstairs; John's bluff had led them upstairs. It had least bought me some time.

My jeans caused me a moment of panic when they caught on the latch of the window, but I was soon free and making my way down Baker Street in the direction of my old haunt. I had a plan formed in my head; I just needed to have one or two things confirmed and I knew exactly where to go. Skirting down an alleyway, I repositioned the gun in the band on my jeans.

I was waiting in the staff kitchen of the tea shop. I'd gotten in through the back entrance. I knew he'd still be here. I stilled my breathing and waited for the moment when the door clicked back and forth and he would step into the kitchen with a tray full of dirty dishes.

I hoped Sherlock wasn't being tortured; but I couldn't get the image from her mind. I heard his voice outside the door; he was flirting with a woman. I swallowed the bile that was bubbling up to my mouth. The door opened and closed in an instant. I trained the barrel of the gun on him and kept my face stern.

'Hello Charlie! You're going to tell me everything you know or you're going to lose those microscopic balls of yours.'


	31. The Ballad of Mona Lisa

_**A/N: I am so sorry it's taken me so long to get this to you. Literally one or two more chapters left. :D I really do hope you like it.**_

_**Please review...**_

_Chapter Thirty-One: The Ballad of Mona Lisa_

I was trapped inside a four foot by twelve foot ground floor bathroom. My hands tied behind me with thick rope. It itched and I was certain it had broken the skin. It was dark outside now; I could only guess that I'd been here at least seven hours by now. The cold, night time, air was now seeping in through the single glazed window to my left.

I'd only seen Moriarty twice in the entire time. First, when I'd come to from my chemically induced sleep. He'd turned on the tap of the basin in a mediocre attempt to torture me. Quite humorous really; I found the drips pleasantly soothing. He had a tantrum and pulled the basin from the wall when I told him as much two hours later.

His second attempt was much more successful; currently my eyelids were super glued open and they had been for the last hour or so. He'd pinned my eyelids open beneath his thumbs while the glue dried and bonded my skin together. The ducts streamed for a while in reaction to the glue that dripped into the eye itself. However they had now dried up and were causing me pain each and every time I attempted to blink.

I knew she'd be coming for me. My beautiful, strong Sam would be finding her way here. Hopefully Mycroft would be joining her, along with anyone else she could bring. I wondered what kind of game he was playing with her; what kind of clues. She was more than capable alone let alone with my brother at her side.

I heard movement outside the door; feet approaching my location. Moriarty threw open the door and in an instant my hands were released. His face was contorted with rage. Something was wrong; things weren't going according to his plan. He clawed my neck and led me into the living room of the house. On a normal day I would fight, but my body was still suffering fatigue from the poison that was in my system.

The house I was being escorted through had not been lived in for years; the air was stale and the empty surfaces were dusty. He threw me roughly on a wooden chair that faced the front door and proceeded to tie me up once more.

'Sam not playing by your rules?' I questioned gruffly as I allowed a crooked smile to spread over my face to bait him. My eyes tried to close again and I winced sharply.

'Of course she's not! She's taken a detour to my man who brought you in. She's cheated!' He roared. 'But, she'll regret it. If she doesn't start playing nice; there may not be much of you left-'

'-I won't let you kill me. She's not going to discover another body Jim!' I spat. There was no way I would allow that; regardless of my current position I was not going to be another violent memory etched on her brain. I would not leave her alone.

'Oh no, no, no; you'll be alive when she gets here.' He began to giggle hysterically dragging a large bag to my feet. 'You just might not be that far away from death is all.' He pulled out an IV bag and set it up beside me before inserting the needle into my right arm. 'Saline solution... you must be dehydrated.' He muttered as he continued to pull items out of his bag. This wasn't a kindness; he had something up his sleeve. A moment later; I knew what it was. He injected a small amount of antifreeze into the solution. 'Not enough to kill you pet!' He hummed at me, 'but just enough to give some symptoms.'

I felt the cold fluid run through my veins without my permission. I had about an hour before the antifreeze would take effect in one form or another. All I wanted was to be able to close my eyes.

'You're a sadistic bastard-'

'Oh stop with your flattery.' He purred with a broad smile and flamboyant wave of his arm. Twenty minutes went by before he suddenly froze, his eyes gazing beyond me and into the kitchen. 'Well well, look at you rocking the Rambo look!'

'Sherlock,' her voice questioned, 'are you ok?' There was a hard edge to her voice and she had yet to move from the doorway to the kitchen. I mumbled a weak response and she approached my peripheral, gun in hand. She was bent down beside me; her eyes never moved from Moriarty for a second.

'Where's Mycroft?' I asked, my voice thick from the antifreeze. 'Please tell me you didn't come alone.'

'Of course she did-' Moriarty began to mock.

'Shut up!' She roared, raising herself from her perch. She trained the gun on him with such determination I was almost certain she would shoot there and then. 'Mycroft's dead Sherlock; he's framed me for the murder.' My heart broke. My brother was the everlasting, constant, force in my life. How could he be dead? I would have cried if I had the ability to. 'I'm surprised you hadn't told him before now!' She directed the statement at Moriarty.

'I wanted to leave that to you.' He laughed. 'Why don't you put the gun down; we both you have no intention of using it. I have too much to answer and quite frankly; you're too we-'

She pulled the trigger. Her aim was to wound and not to kill; the shoulder. He fell back onto the chair and gave Sam enough time to divert her attention to me. She pulled the IV drip out first; I could see the tears welling up in her eyes.

'I'm so sorry about Mycroft. There was nothing I could do.' Her words came out choppy and breathless as she loosened my restraints.

'Sam,' I whispered, looking at her through my strained eyes as her head met. ' you have the strength; end this.'

'No! I just want you. That's all I came for.' She whispered into my ear. Her hands checked my eyes. 'I can't do anything right now.'

I didn't have time to warn her before a log from the fire came crashing down on her skull; knocking her out cold. The gun flung out of her hand and I struggled against my loosened bindings.

'That must really hurt. You've gone through all of this and she's still not interested. She doesn't want to know what you're hiding.' I laughed despite myself. He reached over me to reinforce my restraints. He left Sam untied. 'Why my brother?'

'Because he was being a nasty, naughty, little snoop; he cheated.' Moriarty hobbled over to the corner of the room and retrieved the gun as Sam began to stir. 'He found out something he was not meant to.'

Sam's eyes fluttered open and she reached out to clutch my knee. She groaned in pain as she pulled herself towards me; blood trickled from under her hair.

'Go on then.' She uttered, her eyes closed again the throbbing pain she must be feeling. 'What did he find out that was worth dying for?'

'You sure you want to know?' His voice sang out and I wondered, for a second, what the news could possibly be.

'Just tell me!' She turned and glared at him.

He stood over us both, and with his wicked, evil, smile uttered the words that would cause Sam to wretch all over the floor; 'I am your brother!'


	32. Let's Kill Tonight

_**A/N: An here you go. The final chapter; i'll have an epilogue ready for you guys in a day or two. I really hope you like it?**_

_**Please review and let me know what you think...**_

_Chapter Thirty-Two: Time to Dance_

Hot bile tore through my throat as it hit the carpet. Perhaps this was exactly where I had thrown up upon the discovery of my parent's bodies all those years before. I kept my eyes closed as my head pulsed and throbbed; from the revelation and from the trauma. I waited for a second wave of nausea to pass before turning back to Moriarty; my kin!

There was no way I could deny it. There was no way I would beg for him to take it back; I knew it was true. My reaction was definitive; if some part of me thought it was a lie I would never have thrown up. Things were starting to make sense to me. I looked to Sherlock for support; his eyes were permanently in a state of shock but I could still read something. Horror was there in his eyes, regret and humility; I'd blinded him so much that he'd not seen it. I truly was Rapunzel.

'Well at least your beau looks surprised!' He hissed at me, 'I'm rather disappointed at your reaction Catherine.'

'He's lying Sam!' Sherlock flicked his hand out in a vain attempt to reassure me. It missed as I was too far away.

'He's not; there were rumours that my father was having an affair.' I inched away from both men until I hit the wall. I could not depend on Sherlock for support right now. I was beginning to hyperventilate and there was nothing Sherlock could do to help.

'They were just that Sam; rumours. There was no proof.' Sherlock insisted, twisting his head towards me.

'I AM LIVING PROOF Sherlock!' Moriarty spread out his arms in a victorious manner. 'I'm Arthur Doyle's bastard child!'

'You killed your own father! You killed OUR father!' I heard myself shout; my mouth performing before I could even apply logic. I watched Moriarty's face contorted once more. He hobbled towards me and I refused to move; I was prepared for him. I brought myself to my feet as he approached.

He dragged the barrel of the gun down my face before speaking so forcefully that spit landed over my face; 'He abandoned me. He lied to my mother; love, unconditional love! That's what he told her. That was mine; not yours.'

'You're sounding a little crazy-' I boldly declared before he punched me in the stomach. I doubled over; winded.

'I will kill everyone you love! I will glue your eyes open and make you watch as I remove the innards from each and every person who's shown you warmth. I'll-' He pinned me to the wall despite Sherlock's protests. I came here to save him; I thought it would be so easy. 'You'll eventually die by my hand. You got everything I was meant to have,'

'My father could have demanded that you were aborted. He allowed you to live-'

'Without love!' He roared into my ear.

'Then I'm very sorry your mother didn't love you either! Maybe everyone realised you were the spawn of Satan before you did?' I smiled but soon regretted my actions as he turned his focus on Sherlock; the barrel of the gun was in line with his head as he continued to pin me to the wall. I couldn't push him away; that could lead him to pull the trigger. I forced myself to stay calm as my life without Sherlock flashed before me.

'Do you want to know what it's like to live without love?'

'She already did Jim!' Sherlock roared, 'She was living the life you wanted until... until me!'

I thought he was going to shoot; he released me so that his full body was facing him. I used this opportunity to my advantage; I kicked the back of the calf of his injured leg until he fell to the floor. The gun fell to the floor with a clang as I wrapped my arm around his neck and locked it in place with my other. He howled in pain and I was disturbed with how much satisfaction I felt.

'It wasn't my fault! You're older than me; all that harmed you experienced was before I was born.' I felt him struggle beneath me and I felt my hold slip. 'I was never your enemy; I didn't know you existed. You were only a rumour... one my father tried to hide from me and my mother.' He threw me off and I fell backwards. 'I went over my father's accounts when you murdered him; he was sending money to your mother. I don't know how he felt; but he did the right thing by you.'

His hands where around my throat and I was beginning to fight against it. I tried to dig my feet into the floor in order to push him off but I just kept slipping.

'I wanted my dad! He told my mother he didn't want children; that's why he'd never spend time with me. Then-' his grip tightened and I heard Sherlock fight his bonds as he watched in horror; unable to close his eyes to escape my death. I attempted to push him off with my hands but he was too strong. 'Then he had YOU! You he loved. You he showed off proudly. You he bought expensive things for. You got a family, not a mother who couldn't look at you because you reminded her of everything she lost.'

'Your father was already married Jim.' Sherlock explained. 'Your mother tried to entrap him; it backfired. Please, let her go? It's not her fault. She played your game faithfully. I stopped her, I changed the game. Please, let her go.'

He momentarily let go and I began coughing.

'You're begging?' He asked Sherlock out of utter confusion.

'I am.' Sherlock nodded. I used his distraction to sink my hand into my jean pocket.

'That is just going to make this sweeter.' He laughed, ignored Sherlock's attempts to flee his chair and placed his hands around my neck for one final time. 'You stole my life Catherine. You stole-'

'You.' I managed to say and he loosened his grip so I could talk; 'you stole mine right back; we're even.' I pulled out the blade that Sherlock had given me and aimed it at his heart. I only had one chance to make this work; and very little room to manoeuvre the knife to get my weight behind it.

'How does it feel to know that you're going to die in the same place as your parent's?' He reached over for the gun he'd dropped and I scrambled out from under him. As he turned back I rammed the blade between two of his ribs and in the direction of his heart; his hot blood flooded over my hands. He fell forward onto me which only ensured the knife delved further into his chest. I watched the life drain from him and his eyes close before I took another breath.

I'd killed a man.

It was something that would haunt me for the rest of my life. No more than his presence would have I let him live. I would never have rested if he'd gotten away and killed anyone else. I rolled over onto my front before crawling over to Sherlock.

'Hello.' I smiled through my tears as I pulled Sherlock free. He made to pull his eyelids free but I stopped him. 'Easy. Give me a couple of minutes to warm some water.' I rested his arm on my shoulder before helping him getting him to his feet and into the kitchen.

'You killed him?' He asked while the stale water boiled and I prepared a bowl with washing power. I nodded. 'I broke another promise. You asked me not to let you compromise yourself.' I placed my hand on his lips.

'I didn't compromise myself. I have no regrets.' I uttered. 'We weren't going to get out of here alive otherwise.' I poured the half boiled water over the power before searching the draws for a towel. 'Sit on the chair,' I instructed and Sherlock did as he was told. Slowly, I dissolved the glue from his eyes just enough so that he could close them. He let out a soft moan as he finally got to close both eyes.

'Thank you.' He uttered, 'for saving me.'

'Well, you saved me from the tower so; we're even.' I kissed him softly before looking at my watch.


	33. Epilogue One

_**Here you go guys, the first of two epilogues...**_

_**Enjoy.**_

_Epilogue ONE_

'I killed a man,' I explained to my counsellor for the final time. 'Courts deemed it was in self defence. Hell, it was James Moriarty; they probably wanted to give me a medal.'

'I followed the case closely; you were originally arrested for the murder of Mycroft Holmes-'

'And detained for forty-eight hours until the French authorities declared there was no way I could have killed him using a sniper rifle at such a close range. They found the guy that did it; he's currently on trial.' I sighed, hoping this would soon be over. 'Look, however wrong you might think this; I don't feel any remorse for what I did. I'm free from a monster; correction, society is free from a monster. Please don't judge me for-'

'I'm not judging... I just want to make sure you're not judging you.' He soothed. 'What you did took a lot of courage and could haunt you for the rest of your life. It could have an impact on all of your relationships. I don't want you leaving this session today without some form of closure.'

'I go by Catherine again; I have a supportive network of friends... John and Sarah are married; my family. I think I have closure. My beautiful Goddaughter is now six months old; no one will be hurting her.' I insisted.

'Are you sure; with Sherlock's-' He began. It wasn't something that I'd not considered. There would always be a Moriarty waiting to end his or my own, life. I could deal with that. We could protect Cora. I would protect Cora.

'We intend to start a family of our own eventually; we are prepared to calm down the adventures and protect our own. I think Mycroft's death has ensured Sherlock will take to his detective work with a little more care.' I explained. 'You have nothing to worry about.'

'What happened to the book?' He asked, making notes on his pad. 'Have you pulled it?'

'It's still at the publishers; there are pros and cons to it being released of course. Time will only time if it is indeed in bad taste. I'm working on my own, fictional novel. Don't know if it will be picked up but I've got this publishing house in my pocket.' We spoke for a little longer before I said my final goodbye. I felt free, healthy; whole!

I turned my key in the lock of 221b Baker Street and stepped inside after taking the long route home. I climbed the stairs; a little uncertain how I was going to find the apartment. Would Sherlock be there?

'Hello?' I enquired as I stepped inside, the fire was burning softly. There on the couch, smiling broadly was my rescuer. 'Hello!' I returned his smiled before slipping into his open lap. I pulled him into a deep lingering kiss.

'We have to meet Sarah, John and Cora in an hour.' He spoke breathlessly. I groaned; something new for me. I was reluctant to go out. I was content and exhausted. I wanted the couch, chocolate and Sherlock reading our favourite book; perhaps a little red wine. Oh how Sherlock would cringe and the boring plan I longed for. 'You're exhausted?' I nodded as he pulled on my hair.

'Good job I've got just the thing to get your adrenaline going!' He intoned. I felt the floor fall away as I was picked up and placed back on the couch. He disappeared before returning a moment later with a box. My adrenaline did indeed spike. I pulled open the box.

'Your name is going to be-' I paused, '-wait? I don't understand...' I pulled out the top book. I was named as the author; Catherine Samantha Doyle. 'This is a mistake; I didn't-'

'I did!' He laughed. 'Check out the dedication-'

I slipped the first few pages through my fingers until I got to the dedication;

_Sherlock,_

_ To have and to hold...?_

I looked up to find Sherlock down on bended knee, a small box in hand. He opened it up to reveal the perfect ring for me; simple, platinum band with a single diamond.

'I know I'm not the most romantic person in the world and this has clearly blindsided you; but I want you, and any children we may have, to be protected. I want to be yours, for the rest of my life because, well, you're the only person to ever put up with my crap and in spite of all of it; love me for it. Catherine Doyle; will you marry me?'

'Yes,' I whispered and I wrapped my arms around his shoulders. 'Yes!'


	34. Epilogue Two

Epilogue TWO

Five years later...

I could not see her for the crowds. She had just read an extract from her new book and I'd never felt so proud. I felt a hand pull on my jacket hem and I looked down with a faux frown; my heart lifted at the interruption.

'Papa?' My three year old replica of my wife enquired with bright eyes that matched my own. She was chewing on her free hand absent-mindedly.

'Mon cheri?' I cooed as I picked her up and nestled her into my side. Her arms didn't quite reach all the way around my neck just yet. She was so much like Catherine; empathic, emotive and challenging. I cringed every time I reflected upon my doubt of being a father.

'Is Mama almost done? She must be really tired Papa.' She sighed pleasantly. Of course my beautiful daughter was right. Catherine was six months pregnant and the tour was taking it out of her completely. She felt, however, that she owed it to her fans to complete the tour. She noticed new arrivals before I did. 'Uncle John!' She wriggled slightly beneath my grip as John appeared with Cora; the young girl who eased me into my life as a parent.

'Good afternoon Rachel. How are you?' John asked; ruffling her hair.

'Better for seeing you uncle!' She giggled softly. Always polite; she managed to make people feel better than they ever could. A deafening clap alerted us to the end of her session of signing books. People parted ways as Catherine approached us at the back of the shop. Cora ran and hugged her before holding her hand and leading her toward us. Her face was glowing and her free hand clutched her bump proudly. I kissed her warm forehead while people looked on.

'Home?' She asked me with a smile.

'Actually,' John interrupted ',Lestrade is looking-'

'No! I'm having an evening with my wife.' I insisted; my interest was instantly tantalised but I also wanted nothing more than a quiet night.

'Sherlock, you married your work way before you met me. Don't turn your back on her. Go see what Lestrade wants. I have Rachel to look after me.' She took her from my arms before looking to John. 'You go with him; that way I know he can't get into too much trouble.' She winked, keeping hold of Cora's hand as John led me away. I stopped in my tracked before returning to my wife. I picked up my daughter, placed her in the hands of Cora before dipping Catherine into a romantic kiss.

'Playing the hero doesn't suit you,' She uttered.

'Shut up Mrs Holmes!' I played before righting her. 'I love you. I won't be long!' I could help but smile in excitement I turned to Rachel; 'The game, mon cheri, is on.'

I ran out into the night, hoping the adventure would not keep me from my double life for long.

_A/N: Thank you for everyone who has followed this story. I really do hope you like the ending._


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